


Inseparable

by aTasteofCaramell



Series: The Hitachiin Files [1]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Absent Parents, Angst, Angst and Humor, Brother Feels, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mild Language, No Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual References, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 79,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inseparable has two definitions. One is metaphorical. The other is literal.</p><p>People think that Hikaru and I are identical twins. That isn't true; we're conjoined. One of us can't exist without the other. Not without dire consequences.</p><p>I hope we never find out what those consequences are.<br/>__<br/>This work will be updated as my schedule permits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hollywood Stars and Cowboy Stories

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, the Hitachiin parents suck. You have been warned.

“You’re doing _what_?” All four expressed their surprise in varying degrees of passion, but as per usual, Tamaki was the most dramatic, while Kasanoda (the “Misunderstood” type – he’d joined after the graduation of Mori and Honey) merely raised his eyebrows.

“We’re going to America for a week,” we said.

“But – next week – that’s the spring dance!” Tamaki protested. “You’ll miss it! The last dance sponsored by the Host Club, with me as King--”

Hikaru slung his arm over my shoulder. “Sorry, Boss, but what Dad says goes.”

“Yeah,” I chimed in, “With us getting older, we have to start thinking about taking over the company.”

“But surely you can stay, Kaoru?” Tamaki pleaded. “Hikaru’s the eldest, he’s the heir, so you can stay, right?”

This was true, but we didn’t want to admit it.

“Well—“ Hikaru started.

“You see—” I mumbled. We glanced at each other in panic.

Haruhi saved us. “Give them a break, Senpei. I’m sure they’d love to stay—” with a sideways glance at us, “But they have to obey their father. The company is really important to them.”

We beamed at her. Nothing could be further from the truth (except the part about our father), but the words from her mouth were a gold standard of truth and wisdom to Tamaki. He sighed, shoulders slouching. Then he straightened, eyes flashing, and stabbed a finger at us.

“Very well! But I expect tales of adventure and charming souvenirs to be presented when you return!” He rubbed his chin, wheels turning. “I know! We will have an America-themed party, and you two can regale us with your exploits in the wild land of the West, with buffalo and cowboys and Yankees—make note of this, Kyouya--" the Shadow King was already scribbling in the notebook "And you must be sure to recount in detail your interactions with Hollywood stars—”

*

We stepped outside where our limo waited, the afternoon of our flight out, in conversation with Haruhi.

“D’you think the Boss actually expects cowboy stories?” Hikaru mused.

“This is Tamaki we’re talking about,” said Haruhi. “It would be dangerous to assume otherwise.”

I snorted. “Yeah, there will be loads of them in between the diamonds and champagne.”

“Didn’t you know, Kaoru?” Hikaru giggled. “It’s an American custom to hold rodeos in the dining hall after the main course and before desert.”

I smirked. “Right, and the coffee is freedom-flavored.”

“Complete with red-white-and-blue suits and dresses covered with stars and stripes!”

We burst out laughing. Even Haruhi smiled.

“You guys,” she said, exasperated.

The chauffer began to look impatient. “Seriously though,” she turned to smile at Hikaru. “You guys have fun.”

“We’ll try,” Hikaru stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed the sidewalk. “Bound to be loads of boring board meetings, though. Wish you could come.”

“You’re hilarious. I’m behind enough in studying as it is.” Haruhi glanced over her shoulder. “You’d better go. Your driver looks ready to murder us.”

“Yeah. Um,” Hikaru took his hands out of his pockets, put them back in, took them back out, started to spread his arms, and then stuck out his hand stiffly. Haruhi knocked his hand aside and gave him a full, if fast, frontal hug then she turned to me.

“Oh, no,” I said, grinning, and waved. The ache that came from seeing the two of them together was so constant I hardly even noticed it anymore. She grinned back.

“See you in a week, Kaoru. Hikaru.” She turned and walked briskly off. Hikaru watched her go.

I waited a few seconds, then made my voice high-pitched and simpering, “I wish _you_ could come. That would _so_ lighten up the board meetings.”

“Shut up,” Hikaru smirked, his face flushed. I punched his shoulder as we climbed into the backseat, and he grabbed me in a headlock.

*

“Kaoru, these people are going to kill me, if the jetlag doesn’t do it first!” Hikaru flopped eagle-spread, pale and sweating, onto the wide leather couch in his hotel suite. Barely three hours after landing in LA, we had just endured our first kiss-ass session with important representatives of other companies, and it had been a bloodbath. “That McGinney woman,” he continued. “Worst Japanese I’ve ever heard in my life – would have understood her better in English—who do they think I am, their apprentice?—nonstop questions—judging my every move—”

I let him rant. Being the heir, he had endured much more scrutiny than me. He had been swept away the instant we were shoved into the room, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and confused by the sudden bursts of English. I waited for him to pause for breath, lounging on the arm of the couch next to his head.

“Did you see that man with the blond thinning hair and big glasses?” I interjected.

“No, who?”

“He was the merger rep.”

Hikaru’s eyes went wide. The man’s reputation had reached us through our father: critical of everything Japanese and everything Hitachiin, despite the fact that he wanted to merge with us. Overpowering, rude, and worth too much money to be told off.

“Thank god he didn’t find me!” Hikaru moaned, eyes sliding shut. “Maybe I can face him, but not today, not now, not before sleep…” He opened one again. “Did you talk to him?”

“For over an hour,” I said. “I think he got us mixed up.” I just barely escaped utter annihilation, running away on wobbly knees when his secretary brought him an important (and private) piece of news, feeling like my brain and my body had been put through a wringer, and I had come out all wrinkly.

“You let him think you were me?”

I nodded.

Hikaru hefted himself partway up and threw his arms around my waist, burying his face in my lap. “Bless you, brother mine.” He choked out, voice muffled. “Bless you. May the rain refuse to fall on you whenever you step outside, may beautiful women shower you with chocolates on White Day, and may you get 100s on all of your exams for the rest of eternity for the great service you have done me.”

I patted his mussed hair. “Well, you were dealing with McGinney. Didn’t want to subject you to a double frontal assault. And don’t forget you’ll have to face him sometime this week. Tomorrow, probably.”

Hikaru groaned, his face sliding from my lap to the couch cushions where it landed with a plop. He lay there, face down, as limp as a dead fish. “Wernt ternow thewerr tang?”

“What?”

“Aih sheg wernt ternow tehwerr tang?”

I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his face out of the cushion.

“Ow!” Hikaru lurched upwards, holding is scalp and glaring at me.

“What?” I repeated.

“The worst thing was how patronizing they all were. Oh, here’s poor little Hikaru Hitachiin, doesn’t know a thing about business does he, all set to be in over his head—and I don’t even want to take over the company. Fashion clothing lines? I’ll wear it, don’t care about selling it.” Hikaru sighed. “Sometimes I wish you were the oldest, Kaoru.”

I “hmm”ed non-commitally. We’d had this conversation before. Hikaru detested anything to do with money unless it was spending it. He wanted fun and adventure. I liked fun and adventure too, and running the Hitachiin clothing line was not at the top of my coveted career list, but I didn’t see why you couldn’t have that and run a business at the same time, if you had to.

“I have worse,” I said, returning to the dinner party conversation. “I lost count of how many women asked if we were single.”

Hikaru stared at me. “They asked _what_?”

“Asked if we were single. All age ranges. Late twenties, late forties--”

“WHY?” Hikaru spluttered. “First of all, why do they care? Second of all, it’s none of their business. Third of all, we’re sixteen, who _cares_?”

“I dunno, either they’re creepy or they have daughters, I guess.”

Hikaru muttered to himself for a while longer before shooting me a sharp glance. “What did you tell them?”

“About what?”

“About us being single.”

“Actually, they mostly asked about you. Unless they thought I was you.”

Hikaru yelped.

“Anyways, I made clever witticisms about how you’re too busy preparing for the real world to be bothered with romantic affiliations at this point in time.”

There was a long silence. Hikaru picked up a throw pillow and picked at it. Finally, he muttered, “Why’d you tell them that for?”

I shrugged. “It was more diplomatic than ‘yes he’s single but not for your daughter – you’re asking for your daughter, right, you creep?’ and ‘what the hell, eff off.’”

Another few stretches of awkward silence. “I mean, why’d you tell them I was single?”

I didn’t answer right away. Hikaru was already stressed, and exhausted, and not in a good mood. I didn’t want to upset the balance of his nerves and emotions any more than it was already. At last I carefully said, “Do you mean, it would have made them leave you alone if I told them you are in a relationship, or do you mean you’re not single?”

Hikaru mumbled something inaudible.

Fed up with his idiocy, I rashly said, “If you’re referring to Haruhi, you are not in a relationship with her.” Hikaru’s lips tightened and his face grew an angry red. I continued. “No, awkward glances and quick hugs do not count as a relationship, and if you want to be in one with her, get a move on and ask her out already.”

“We already went out!” Hikaru glared at the throw pillow.

“Hikaru, that was _my_ date. And that was ages ago. I’d hoped you’d get the hint and ask her out without my help from then on.”

Hikaru stiffened. Oops. “You set us _up_?” his voice rose.

I gritted my teeth. “Yes. You’re _welcome_. Now why don’t you ask her out for real? It’s obvious to everyone you like each other.”

Hikaru was now unraveling a thread in the pillow, yanking at it with vehemence. “How do _you_ know?”

I stood up, anger and frustration boiling inside me. “Are you serious? The date, for starters.”

“But like you just said, that was _your_ date,” Hikaru burst out. “Your date, not mine. And was a self-centered jerk the entire time. And--” he tossed the throw pillow to the side and looked at me. “You like her too, Kaoru, I know you do.”

What? He knew?

Stupid, I guess, so assume that my twin wouldn’t pick up on it, even though I’d been so careful to hide it. I stuck my hands in my pockets.

“Sure. But not like you do. And besides, she likes you, not me.”

“How do you _know_?” His voice was still angry, but the emphasis in the question had changed. He was really asking me now. How did I know? Some of my frustration evaporated.

“She treats you differently. When it’s just her and me, we’re just casual friends, and it’s usually only a few seconds before other people join the conversation. But when you and her are talking it’s completely different. You’re in your own world. It’s harder for people to interrupt. She laughs more when she’s with you. She gets more – I don’t know – excited about things around you. And she knows you like her. She almost kissed your cheek on our birthday last year, remember? After Tono gave us our watches?”

Hikaru rubbed his cheek and looked at the ground. “Well – then – why doesn’t she say something?” I got the distinct feeling that he was searching for excuses now. “Haruhi doesn’t care about gender roles. Why doesn’t she ask me out if she likes me?”

I thought for a moment, then, as nothing else had worked, I decided to let him have it. “She doesn’t care about gender roles. She just doesn’t want to date a coward.”

Hikaru’s gaze shot to my face again. “ _What_?”

“She’s waiting to see if you care enough about her to be brave enough to admit your feelings. You even deny them to me when I already know better than anyone how you feel, and when we both know more about each other than most people know about their spouses.” I walked over to where the pillow had landed and picked it up. “So man up and ask her out.” I threw it at his face. Hikaru flailed and caught it.

The timing was impeccable. Hikaru’s cell phone rang. He picked it up and stared at the number for several moments, then his gaze flickered between me and the screen. He turned his back, tucked his knees against his chest, and answered it. “Hey, Haruhi.”

I left to get ready for bed. When I returned, Hikaru was hanging upside-down off the back of the couch, legs hooked over the edge. Only his calves and bare feet were visible.

“I know,” he said, laughing. I could faintly hear Haruhi’s voice, though I couldn’t decipher what she was saying. “Just watch the headlines, ‘Prominent businessman’s son is packed away to the loony bin – World in fear of World War III – complete llama and iceberg recall!”

Haruhi was laughing. Typical Hikaru conversation – you would never understand what it was about if you only heard the tail end.

I was usually there from the beginning.

I swallowed.

Haruhi said something else, and Hikaru said in a more resigned tone, “Unngh, okay. Tell the Boss we’ll try to get some cultural flavor tomorrow. Uh-huh.” A long pause. Haruhi started to say something the same time Hikaru said, “Hey, Haruhi?”

A long awkward pause. Hikaru’s toes clenched, and he forced out, rapid-fire, “WhenwegetbackdoyouwannagoonadatewithmewecouldeatdinnerorsomethingbutonlyifyouwanttoIthoughtitmightbefun.”

Triumph and grief mingled together in my stomach. Another pause, in which Hikaru’s toes clenched even tighter. Haruhi spoke, and even if I couldn’t tell by her tone, I could tell by the relaxation of Hikaru’s toes and the subtle sigh of relief after they said goodbye and hung up that she had said yes.

Hikaru’s feet disappeared behind the couch and he emerged, starting when he saw me standing by the door. “How long have you been there?” he demanded.

I raised my hands. “Calm down, I’ve only been here like two seconds,” I lied. “Was that still Haruhi?”

He avoided my eyes. “Yeah. Hey, listen, I’m working on an escape plan.”

I grinned. “Great. Escape plan. Where are we escaping to?”

“Some sort of festival going on in town,” Hikaru said. “Just looked it up online. I’ll let you know the details when I’ve got them. We might even get lucky and miss a reception or two. It'll be tricky, though. Have you noticed the entire hotel is crawling with security?”

“Yeah. They have lots of really important people in one place."

"I guess. Still weird though. Makes the plans harder, but I'll figure something out, never fear."

"Right, you do that. I’m going to bed now. G’night.”

“G’night,” he responded, heading towards his bedroom as I went back out the door. The last thing I heard him say before I closed it was, “Big fancy hotel with suites with kitchenettes and everything, you’d think they’d have decent-sized beds.”


	2. If We Don't Both Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the twins against the world. Luckily, they have sarcasm and telepathy on their side.

I glanced sideways at Hikaru as we stood stiffly just outside the door. On the other side lay the dragons, and we were the dragon-tamers. A slight sheen of sweat shone on my brother’s pale face. He licked his lips, setting them in a grim line.

For all of his bluster about not caring about the corporation, he definitely did not want to be the one to topple under the pressure.

He looked at me. Nodded. We took a deep breath, the butler opened the door, and we took the plunge.

“Ahhh,” bright flashes of diamonds burned our retinas as a tall, stately woman in what looked like two-foot heels pounced on us just inside the doorway. “The Hitachiin brothers, it’s _so_ good to finally meet you, I am close friends with your father, I run the West branch of the line—”

The butler cleared his throat, unable to close the door, as we were still standing in the doorway, but the lady didn’t move. Hikaru and I squeezed past her, to the side, and she followed us, keeping us cornered against a table. The butler closed the doors and disappeared.

“—especially you, Hikaru, love. How are you?”

We were pressed up against the table, mirroring each others’ stance automatically. Our hands gripped the edge as we leaned back ever so slightly, all but sitting on the expensive china-ware. “We’re doing excellently, thank you, Madame,” we chorused.

Her flashy smile faltered a bit. She tried again. “Hikaru, your father tells me you are shaping up to graduate at the top of the class, is that true?”

“Wellll,” we said thoughtfully. “We do have a brilliant classmate.”

“He’s an honors student,” Hikaru said.

“Got into Ouran on his wits alone,” I said.

“Perfect grades year-round,” Hikaru said.

“He’s a commoner, see, and is such a genius he got a full scholarship,” I said.

“So we’re not quite the top of the class,” Hikaru said.

“But we’re giving him a run for his money,” we finished together. This was another outright lie. We weren’t stupid, and we didn’t get bad grades, but we were nowhere near the top of the class, and there was no way we were overtaking Haruhi. (Though, it did help to have a twin brother who complemented your own strengths. With all of the copying off of each other’s homework we did, we were much better at many more subjects than we would be separately.)

The woman looked exasperated, her smile becoming even more plastic, eyes darting back and forth between us, looking for a sign. We smiled innocently at her. Last night had been a mistake. We’d let the people know which one of us was Hikaru, and so they were able to siphon him off and display him like a trophy and interrogate him like a prisoner. Not today.

Other VIPs realized we had entered, and soon the crowd forced us away from the table so they could get at us from all angles. In the center of the room, in deep conversations with more somber adults, stood our father. Our mother was flitting from person to person, her laugh carrying even to where we stood. Hikaru was right, I realized; there were an odd number of security guards everywhere.

“Such good English, I’m very impressed,” purred a Canadian representative. “Tell me, do you study French as well?”

“ _Mais bien sûr, Madame_ ,” Hikaru purred right back. I had a slight panic attack. Hikaru soaked up languages like a sponge; I sputtered through them like a drowning kitten. (Sure, he would fail Foreign Language without my help, but only because he preferred to speak aloud it rather than worry about grammar and spelling on paper.) If Hikaru started spouting French, they would be able to tell us apart. I frantically searched my brain for French phrases.

An idea struck me. I made a show of nudging Hikaru’s shoulder and chiding, “ _Non_ , Mademoiselle,” and gave the woman a sly smile. Perfect. It matched the flirtatious atmosphere, sounded French, and required no actual knowledge of vocabulary or grammar. My smile faltered when I glanced across the room again and saw our father looking at us.

The woman, who must have been at least 50, beamed and laughed. “You naughty things, you. You flatter me.” She winked and turned to receive a new glass of champagne.

Hikaru and I glanced at each other. We were smiling, but mocking disgust reflected off of each others’ eyes.

Our ass-kissing continued, bolstered by the fact that everything we said was a bald-faced lie. Every time we laughed, we communicated. We were laughing for the sake of each other. It was a secret code. It was basically telepathy.

We were good at telepathy.

 _Can you_ believe _these idiots, Kaoru?_

_Oh yes, Hikaru. Yes I can._

_Who would have thought the Host Club would actually be excellent practice for the real world?_

_I can’t wait to get out of here._

_You and me both._

_Good lord, was that a man or a woman?_

_Pretty sure it was a woman. It had a purse._

_What about that one?_

_I think it’s a man._

_Save us._

“Our father must be so fortunate to have you.”

“I love your necklace, are all American women this fashionable?”

“Truly? You are the vice-president? That’s amazing.”

“Oh yes, we wish we could converse more often.”

“Do tell the secret of your success, won’t you?”

“We are so eager to join in the decision-making as soon as we are ready.”

“No, not at all. Computer programming and fashion design go together quite well, actually, in a corporation like this.”

A man with a protruding gut took his opportunity to elbow his way into the conversation. “Tell me, Hikaru, what are your university plans? Will you be coming to our high-end school? The opportunities would be endless.”

“Er…” We said. Hikaru’s silent cry for help crashed against me like a wave. I scanned the stranger’s face and matched it to the guest list.

I put on my most winning smile. “You must be Professor Drake,” I said. Hikaru’s fingers brushed mine in thanks.

He didn’t smile back. “That’s right. We can offer some hefty benefits to you boys.”

“Really? How fascinating,” Hikaru said.

“Yes, we would love to hear about it,” I said.

“We haven’t yet decided on a university,” Hikaru said.

“But we would appreciate and value your insight,” I said.

The sarcasm was so thick you could have drowned in it. You could have carved it out of the air with a spoon. You could have chiseled a statue.

Either the professor didn’t notice, or he didn’t care, and he launched into a pitch, speaking so fast that the English became an indecipherable blur. Some minutes later, I slung my arm over Hikaru’s shoulder and glanced at him. His eyes were becoming glazed.

“Hikaru and Kaoru,” a booming voice interrupted us. We turned around, my arm slipping off of Hikaru’s shoulder. There stood the merger representative, Mr. Domenic Grennich, built like a 60-year-old lineman, chin stuck out. He thrust his hand at us, crushing our palms in his grip.

“I only got the chance to meet one of you last night,” he said. “Which one of you is which?”

We froze. The others around us looked surprised, and relieved. No one had dared to ask the embarrassing question, but everybody wanted to know the answer.

“What do you mean, can’t you tell?” We chorused. It was a dumb response, one that we usually reserved for other high school students, and made us sound extremely childish. We inwardly winced.

“You may have forgotten, but you are identical twins,” Grennich said dryly. “And if you think I’m going to engage in a guessing game just to gratify you, you have something else coming. You are only sixteen, however, and for that I will give your juvenile attempts to confound me a pass.”

We blinked. I recovered first. “We wouldn’t dream of attempting to confuse you, Mr. Grennich,” I said. “I apologize if it seemed that way.”

_Get a load of this, Hikaru._

_Pompous, condescending, rude…_

_All of that and more._

“Yeah,” Hikaru found his footing again. “We’ve just been conversing with these _lovely_ people for so long we assumed that everybody knew by now.”

_As lovely as the dog turd on the tarmac at the airport._

“Yes,” I concurred, smiling to the people around us, some of whom were beginning to wander off, apparently driven away by Grennich’s overwhelming presence. “Everyone has made us feel very welcome and at home, we quite forgot they don’t know us well enough to tell us apart.”

_At home like a dog kennel, to go with the dog turd._

_Wait, are we the dogs, or are they?_

_Good question._

“Indeed,” Grennich raised his eyebrows. “So who are you?” He pointed at Hikaru.

Hikaru linked his arm with mine. I pointed at myself, Hikaru pointed at himself, and we spoke in unison.

“I’m Kaoru and this is Hikaru.”

“I’m Hikaru and this is Kaoru.”

Our voices blended together, hopefully preventing him from actually hearing.

Grennich’s eyes glinted. “Right then.” He put an arm across HIkaru’s shoulders and pulled him away, turning their backs to me. “Hikaru. So, tell me more about these university plans of yours.”

I tried to listen in on their conversation, but only got snatches of words, and glimpses of an increasingly peeved expression on Hikaru’s face.

*

Hours later, we finally escaped to Hikaru’s room (dogged by the security) and locked the door.

“I can’t take this, Kaoru,” Hikaru panted, his face flushed. He tugged violently on his tie, unraveling it and throwing it to the floor. His vest followed, then his shirt, and he sagged to the couch half-naked and sweating again.

“Are you having a nervous breakdown?” I asked, with genuine concern that this might be the case.

“I don’t know,” Hikaru moaned.

I sat beside him, removing my own tie, more slowly. “So what did Grennich ask you about?”

“Ermaughemphh,” Hikaru rubbed his face. “Don’t remember half of it. He kept harping on the university question, though. He must have stock in the system or something.”

“At least he didn’t ask you if you were single.”

Hikaru snorted. “I dunno, I think I might prefer pointless gossip. It’s easier to deflect. Anyways, he kept suggesting places, pressuring me on what I was going to study, when I was going to take over the company, yada yada yada." He kicked off one shoe, then the other. "I kept saying we didn’t know yet, and then I started making up answers, saying we would probably go to a good business school, major in economics and entrepreneurship or whatever, and then he started acting all condescending again and saying he was surprised we were going to go to the same place, the company would need diversity, and it needed one CEO not two, etc, etc.”

I removed my vest and folded it, not meeting Hikaru’s eyes.

“I mean, what kind of statement is that? Did he think that after high school we would magically drift apart? Does he not believe in teamwork, or what?” He pulled off his socks with his toes. I didn’t answer. “Kaoru?”

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I carefully weighed my next words. “Do you…do you think we’ll go to the same university?”

“Well, I don’t see why we wouldn’t. Once we find the best business school, it just makes sense for us both to go, doesn’t it?”

“What if we don’t both go to business school?”

A long, gaping, silence. I dared to look at Hikaru. He was staring at me.

“You don’t—” he started, then stopped, then started. “You don’t want to go to business school?”

“Well,” I rubbed my neck, staring at Hikaru’s collarbone rather than his eyes. Specifically, at the birthmark just below his left collarbone. I had the same one on my own chest. “I don’t think Father will make me.”

HIkaru sat tense and still. His voice came out rather high-pitched. “You want to move away? You want to _leave_?”

Tension stretched taunt. My voice, sounding tiny to my ears, plucked at it weakly like a guitar pick. “I don’t—I don’t know what I want—I just thought—”

“You think I want to be here? You think I want to go to business school? I don't have a choice. But you thought you'd leave. You thought you’d skip out on me, the business, the whole mess.”

Blood rushed to my face. Guilt was a blush. “No, not like that, I want to—”

“Well fine, then, Kaoru. Leave, if you don’t want to be here. Hell, just hop on an airplane tomorrow, why don’t you? I’ll deal with these bastards, no problem. I mean, I’ll only be forced to deal with them the rest of my life. Alone. What’s the problem with that?” Hikaru got to his feet.

“Hikaru—”

“Save it, Kaoru.” Hikaru went into the bedroom and slammed the door. I slumped into the couch and covered my face.

My fingers were cold.


	3. The Hitachiin Mirror-Image (is marred)

Hikaru paced his bedroom, trying to quell the panic blossoming in his chest. The only problem was, when he managed to get it down, it turned into raging anger.

Hikaru tugged on a lock of his hair, spun on his heel, kicked the base of the bed, picked up a wicket stool and threw it against the wall. It bounced off with very little force. Hikaru glowered at it. Then he shivered. The sweat dried cold on his skin. He sank down on the bed and stared at the ground. His bare toes curled against the carpet.

_Kaoru doesn’t want to stay._

His stomach hurt.

_Of course he doesn’t, who would want to stay here?_

_But…_

_Who are you kidding? Kaoru, Haruhi, the Host Club, we all have to split up sometime. We’re not going to be at Ouran forever._

_But not Kaoru._

_Not Kaoru._

Hikaru tried to imagine it, this life, these people, his insufferable parents, condensation, the flashy magazine covers, the drab reality—by himself.

His breath caught. He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and stood up.

“No,” he said out loud to his reflection in the shiny panels of the closet door. “No, I’m not doing this to him. He’s my brother. He’s my little brother.”

A little voice in the back of his mind poked at him. _There’s Haruhi, too. She might not go anywhere if you_ —

Hikaru pushed that thought away (it was too nerve-wracking) as he pushed open the bedroom door again. Kaoru was still there. He’d drawn his knees up, hugging them to his chest, his body curled away from the door. Hikaru padded towards him on bare feet.

“Hey, Kaoru?”

Hikaru could only see a small portion of Kaoru’s face, but the twins had long eyelashes, and he saw them flutter as Kaoru blinked.

Hikaru lowered himself onto the couch beside his brother and snaked his arms around Kaoru’s waist. “Kaaaaoo-chan,” he crooned in a voice normally reserved for host club activities, putting his chin on Kaoru’s shoulder. Kaoru gave a shuddering sigh. He wasn’t playing along. “Come on, Kao-chan, don’t be like that—”

In a deadpan voice, Kaoru interrupted. “Hikaru, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Hikaru dropped the charade, though he kept his arms and chin where they were. “No, Kaoru, I’m sorry.”

“Of course I want to come to the same university, I only meant—”

“No you don’t.”

“Hikaru—”

“Shut up. I’m sorry. You’re right. If you want out of this hell-hole, good for you. I want you out of it too. That’s what we’ve been planning since we were fetuses, right? One of us has to stay. One of us doesn’t have a choice, but you do, and you should take it.”

“I—”

“Sure, maybe you don’t know if you want to go to a different university or not. The point is if you get the chance, I want you to take it.”

Hikaru held his breath, heart pounding. Kaoru could probably feel it.

Kaoru relaxed. “Okay.”

And with that single word, the dread disappeared, replaced by a sharp ache. Hikaru swallowed, hard, closed his eyes, and through the painful panic whirling through his head again, he kept reminding himself, _This is Kaoru. Do it for Kaoru. Let him out. Let him out._

It might kill him in the process, but then at least Kaoru would be happy. Hikaru tightened his hold.

A harsh knock came on the door. The twins turned their heads in unison.

“I swear, if they say ‘room service’…” Hikaru muttered.

“Master Hikaru,” came a bored voice. The knocking continued. Hikaru groaned. Kaoru sat up, unlocking their embrace and Hikaru stumped to the door, irritated, and swung it open.

“Yeah, what?”

It was a member of the security team. The Hitachiin Corporation symbol was stitched onto his right shoulder. He glanced at Hikaru up and down, and Hikaru remembered the only article of clothing he currently wore was pants. He was about to quip, ‘My eyes are up here,’ but the security guard finished scrutinizing him, glanced over his shoulder at Kaoru, and said, “Lord Hitachiin is waiting for you in his suite. For Hikaru, that is.”

Hikaru stiffened. “What for? I was about to go to bed.”

“Then I suggest you get dressed. I will wait here.”

Hikaru slammed the door in his face. “Damn. Now what?” He turned around. Kaoru began to lace up his shoes.

*

Psychological chill hit the twins like a wave as they entered the suite. Both of their parents were there, but their mother was reading a novel next to an electric fire, and only their father stood to greet them.

Though, he didn’t exactly greet them. Just stood there, glowering, and then growled, “Well?”

“Well what?” the twins said in unison.

“Will you tell me what that performance was this evening?”

Hikaru frowned. “Sir?”

“Your behavior. _Despicable_. Don’t think I wasn’t watching. Your ridiculous determination to make our trusted clients and partners feel like fools. Your childish flirting and flattery. Unprofessional, unacceptable, _disgraceful_ to the Hitachiin name.”

Hikaru stiffened.

“You are a reflection of me, remember that? You are a reflection of your mother. You are a reflection of the name of Hitachiin, of our brand of clothing and software, of our hard work, of everything we have built, and you intentionally mar it!”

Shock rooted Hikaru him to the ground. “Sir—” he ventured. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean—we were trying—I was trying to—”

“Be quiet. I’m not finished. Hikaru?” He pointed at Hikaru’s face. Hikaru nodded, too stunned to feel the usual prickling irritation. “Don’t think for one moment that I haven’t heard of your escapades at the school, either. Shame on you, hiding behind your brother, refusing to take on the role assigned to you. _Shame._ ” Hitachiin’s finger fell. “So this is an order. Stop. _Stop_. Step apart. Take on some individuality, for god’s sake. Stop this devilish, infantile, carefree play-acting. You may only be a devilish, infantile, mouthing-off adolescent, but you are my son and by god you are going to act like it, and if I have to tear you away from Kaoru, that is what I’m going to do.” He glared at Kaoru. “You aren’t even supposed to be here. It’s absurd. I summoned Hikaru, not you. I’ve made up my mind. Hikaru, come to the forefront of these meetings. Stop the slouching. Square your shoulders. Drop the smile, drop the flirting, act like a man. I should have left you in Japan, Kaoru, but what’s done is done. Stay away from Hikaru. Stay in the background, or I’ll send you right back to Japan, or even lock you in separate rooms if I have to.”

Anger awoke inside of Hikaru. It thrummed through his blood. “I’m afraid you’re too late, Father,” he said coolly. Hitachiin glared at him.

“What are you talking about, boy?”

“Kaoru has already decided to go to a different university and escape this family. So if you want to control how I act, you’re going to have to find a different threat.”

Hitachiin’s jawline clenched. Hikaru didn’t care.

“In fact, I’ve volunteered to help him escape you. He’s not the heir; you have no hold over him. He’ll turn twenty in a few short years, and he’ll be gone. He could decide to leave before that, become a legal adult in another country. And you can’t do anything about it, can you?”

Hikaru stopped talking, not because he’d run out of things to stay, not because his anger left, but because Kaoru’s fingers touched the back of his hand. The brush was so light, so soft, and so brief, that if it were anyone but Kaoru, Hikaru would have assumed it was an accident.

“Hikaru,” Kaoru said, as softly as his fingers. Hikaru shut his mouth.

Hitachiin was silent. Blood crept up his neck. He took one step forward, and then another. He stared into Hikaru’s eyes, the gaze fierce and strong. Hikaru wavered. His stomach twisted. His gaze dropped.

_Smack._

Hikaru reeled, felt a burning sting in his right cheek, heard Kaoru’s gasp, and then felt a throbbing pain. He stumbled.

_Smack._

Harder this time. The blow reverberated through his nose. He lost his balance, cold fear flooding his limbs as he backpedaled. His ankle hit something hard and he fell. Hitachiin advanced. Hikaru jerked up one arm as a shield.

“Dear,” his mother’s voice rang softly in the deathly silence. Hikaru looked up through watering eyes, hoping beyond hope that she was interfering. Hitachiin turned to look at his wife.  Kaoru dropped to his knees and grabbed HIkaru’s upraised arm. Hikaru sat up, holding his cheek. “I simply can’t decide about the Canadian line,” his mother said mildly. “Should I press her about their annual reports tomorrow?”

Kaoru’s breathing was loud. His hand tightened on Hikaru’s arm. He hauled him to his feet, and they took several steps backwards.

“Whatever you think best, Yuzuha.” Their father turned around again. Hikaru flinched. Kaoru’s grip moved from his arm to his hand and held on tight.

Their mother may not have been interfering on Hikaru’s behalf, but the interruption seemed to have changed Hitachiin’s mind regardless. His gaze flickered downwards, and then he looked at Kaoru. “Let go of him.” Kaoru’s hand slipped out of Hikaru’s. “I’ll send my personal makeup artist to your room tomorrow. Dismissed.”

They left, all but running, not speaking, not even looking at each other until they reached Hikaru’s suite and locked the door.

“He hit you!” Kaoru burst out. “He _hit_ you!”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Hikaru gave a mocking smile that turned into a grimace. Kaoru dragged him across the room and forced him into a wooden chair. His hand touched Hikaru’s face. “Kaoru, I’m fine.”

“I’ll get some ice.” Kaoru was already halfway to the kitchen. Hikaru sighed. Kaoru returned, ice wrapped in plastic bags. He leaned over Hikaru, gently grabbing his chin and turning his face to the side. He brushed the area with his fingers. “It’s bruising already.” He pressed the ice to Hikaru’s cheekbone.

“Well, at least it was a backhand. I don’t think I’d ever live it down if he’d bitch-slapped me.”

“Hold still.”

“ _Ow._ C’mon, Kaoru, I’m supposed to be the pitcher, remember?”

“This isn’t funny, Hikaru!”

Hikaru grabbed the icepack and pressed it to his face. Kaoru let go, stepping back, but he didn’t sit down. He turned his back, ran a hand through his hair, turned around again and looked around the room with the expression of a lost puppy.

“ _Damn_ it, Hikaru.”

Hikaru was astonished at the bright tears in his brother’s eyes. “Hey…”

“I’m not leaving!” Kaoru burst out. “I don’t care, all right? That’s what he wants me to do? Then I’m not going. I’m staying. We’re going to the same school, whatever that is, we’re graduating together, we’re running this damn business together—”

Relief rushed through him, followed by guilt, and then by more relief. “Kaoru!” Hikaru interrupted him. Kaoru stopped, breathing hard, eyes wide and hard and glistening. “Kaoru…”

Kaoru’s shoulders slumped. “What?”

Hikaru’s gaze wandered to the large TV set and sound system that took up half of the apartment. “Let’s play a game.”

“What?” Kaoru looked up, puzzled, the wetness lingering.

Hikaru nodded towards the TV. “Let’s play a video game. That cabinet’s fully stocked; I checked yesterday. And call room service. I fancy some nachos.”

*

I woke up with Hikaru’s hair in my mouth. I turned my head to the side, cheek-to-cheek with him, spitting and blowing to dislodge the strands that seemed to have grown into my chin, blinking in the slants of sunlight coming through the window.

Crumbs scattered the carpet, mixed with the cases of a symphony of video games. An obscene number of empty soft drink cans were piled on the table. Sometime in the middle of the night we had dissected Hikaru’s bed and the couch cushions, which were now spread around us in a nest. My arms were wrapped around Hikaru’s chest. His hand rested on mine. We were missing our shirts – I dimly remembered Hikaru dousing me in Coke, and then me waving the soaked shirt around my head like a flag after beating Hikaru at Mario Kart (or had it been Dairanto Smash Brothers?)– and my pants were half-off. Hikaru was missing his entirely. I smacked my lips, grimacing at the taste of old tortilla chips and corn syrup. I wriggled out of Hikaru’s limp embrace and picked up his wrist, looking at his watch (mine seemed to have disappeared along with my shirt). Twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Well.

For two solitary teenagers with no access to alcohol, we knew how to party.

Heavy metal warbled softly from within the nest. I dug through the blankets until I found Hikaru’s nearly-dead phone. During the night, we’d hooked it up to the sound system. Now it merely played by itself. I stood up, pulling up my pants as I did so, and then gingerly picked my way through a landmine of sharp Dorito fragments to plug in Hikaru’s phone before making my way to the bathroom. I desperately needed to shower—I felt sticky all over—and then teeth-brushing would be fantastic. I tossed one last glance out at Hikaru.

I should never have mentioned wanting to get out of the family business. Everybody thought Hikaru and I were identical twins. That wasn’t true; we were conjoined. We couldn’t be separated. Not without dire consequences. I might survive being forcefully separated, but Hikaru wouldn’t. He wasn’t ready. If I was honest with myself, I wasn’t ready either. I couldn’t leave him yet. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to. But even if I did, the crippling guilt that would come with abandoning him would prevent me from ever leaving. Maybe after he and Haruhi…

He snuggled deeper into the pillows as I watched. I smiled.

Oh, if our Host Club regulars could see us now.

*

“G’morning Kaoru,” Hikaru said as I emerged, hair dripping, still only wearing my pants (I hadn’t been able to find my shirt – apparently it had disintegrated in the corn syrup). Hikaru, having the benefit of us being in his suite, was dressed in clean clothing, and happily chewing, cheeks bulging.

“Afternoon. What are you eating?” I was suddenly starving. Hikaru wordlessly pushed an open packet of Oreos toward me. I groaned.

Hikaru grinned, teeth black with cookie. “Hangover, darling?” His face didn’t look as bad as I thought it might. Sure, the entirety of his cheek was red, but only a square centimeter or two were a faint purple.

I tore my gaze away. “I need real food,” I said, even as I took a handful of Oreos.

Hikaru shrugged. “Eeh, there'll be some in the restaurant downstairs, but Dad’s makeup artist hasn’t showed, so I don’t think he wants me to be seen in public.”

“Because then people would know he hit you,” I said in a low voice.

“Exactly,” Hikaru gave me a faltering grin. “Wouldn’t look good for the Hitachiin image, now would it?”

I briefly considered asking Hikaru how he was planning to deal with everybody tonight without me, but I decided against it and walked to the door instead.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To get dressed, idiot. And I’ll find the makeup artist for you.”

“Aww, thanks, Kao-chan, you’re the best.”

“Anything for you, Hika-chan. You’ll be all pretty in no time.”

“Stop, you, you’re making me blush.”

“I’ll do more than that later.”

“ _Kaoru_! For god’s sake, _I’m_ the pitcher!”


	4. That Last Happy Day

We trod lightly around the hotel staff (I still spotted the security guards dodging around corners, watching us from a distance), slipping in and out of the hotel restaurant for a late lunch before slipping away to my room. We hung out there, doing homework, so the staff could clean Hikaru’s room. Well, I did homework. Hikaru complained that I was no fun. I retorted that just because we had a week off school did not mean we had a week off of homework. He sulkily listened to his music (sans headphones; he’d forgotten them at home) as he did both of our physics homework assignments, lying next to me on his stomach. I suggested he buy new headphones. He complained it wouldn’t be the same. After an hour he went back to his own room, saying he was going to check on its cleanliness status.

I worked on our literature essays for fifteen minutes longer and then wandered to the kitchen and ate a muffin I’d smuggled from the restaurant. I clicked on the TV and watched a few minutes of news, then flipped through the channels looking for something remotely interesting.

Where was Hikaru?

I went across the hall to his suite and knocked on the door.

“Hikaru?”

When he didn’t reply, I dug through my pockets, found his room key (of course we’d given each other our spare room keys), and entered.

The cleaning staff had done a spectacular job. We’d have to remember to leave them a handsome tip.

“Hikaru!”

I checked every room in the suite and then stood in the middle of where our nest had been last night, feeling a twinge of abandonment. I dug through my pockets again looking for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I retraced my steps to my own suite and searched the bedroom, the living area, and the kitchen before I found it on the bathroom counter. I picked it up.  Three missed calls. From Hikaru. The last one was from three minutes ago, and he’d left a message.

_Figures._

I pushed play.

“Kaoru! Pick up, why don’t you! I swear, if you fell asleep, I’m going to kill you.” I raised my eyebrows. “I only have time to say this once. Follow these instructions very carefully. Change into those blue jeans we both like, the tan short-sleeve, the black designer jacket, and wear that brown-grey-white striped scarf.” I put the message on speaker and tossed it onto the bed as I obeyed. This was one of the outfits we had that matched. We were going to be identical – for whatever we were doing.

“Grab your wallet. Leave your watch. Go out your door and turn left. Go to the end of the hall and go down the stairs to the second floor. Go into that hallway. A big security guard will meet you there. He’s South American. Don’t speak, just follow him, and he’ll take you to a staff door. You can go through there to the exit. I’ll meet you outside.”

 _Ah!_ I realized at last. _Escape plan._

I followed his instructions. The guard led me around the corner of the hotel to a picturesque copse of pine trees. A hand darted out and yanked me inside. The pine stabbed me in the face and nearly got me in the eyes, but I started laughing.  Hikaru grinned at me. I was right about us going identically; he was in the same clothes. “Excellent!”

“So I assume we’re going to this festival,” I said as I finished bathing in the triumph of my overly-dramatic escape from the hotel.

“Correct.”

“What exactly is it?”

“No idea. Some sort of commoner thing.”

“How are we getting there? Walking?”

Hikaru looked horrified. “Of course not! Fernando will be driving us.”

I glanced at the security guard. “Is that Fernando?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know he’s not going to tell everybody where we’ve gone?”

Hikaru waved his hand like that was a minor detail. “Relax, he won’t. He’s not on duty right now. I promised him a pay bonus if he would quietly drive us out of here. He’s new, so he’s ignorant enough to actually not tell. Relax,” he repeated at the look on my face. “He doesn’t understand us.” He turned to Fernando and smiled, speaking in English, “We’re ready to go.”

Fernando gave a small smile in return. “The car’s just around the corner. Follow me.” We traipsed after him, keeping to the trees as much as possible.

“How are you going to get him a bonus?” I asked.

“I gave him my watch.”

“But you love that watch!”

“Yeah, well, it was a price worth paying. Besides, I can just buy another one. Fernando here can pawn that one.”

We climbed into the black security van and Fernando started the drive into LA. A sense of freedom and adventure swept over us. I pressed my face to the window. Hikaru leaned over me, his chin on my shoulder again, also watching the city.

“How’d you know he’d take a bribe?” I continued the inquiries, fascinated, as usual, with Hikaru’s uncanny ability to pull off tricks like this.

“He’s South American.”

“So?”

“So they’re all involved with drugs and gangs, right? They’ll all take bribes.”

I choked on an aghast laugh. That was too politically incorrect, even for me. I jabbed his ribs and Hikaru jumped. “That’s racist.”

Hikaru laughed too. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I just talked to him and made friends. He’s new to this business. Has a wife and three little girls. They’re hard pressed for money. I offered him a bonus, he refused, and I said he could do you and me a favor to earn it.”

“You’re so manipulative.”

Hikaru snorted. “Look who’s talking, partner-in-crime.”

*

The day went off better than Hikaru could have hoped. Fernando dropped them off before he could find  a place to park, and they were swept into a swirl of languages, dust, and smoke. Bright colors draped the buildings, dogs ranged the streets, children shrieked, carousals spun. He and Kaoru dove right into the mix of it, laughing and talking to each other in Japanese, trying everything at every food stand. Hikaru made himself sick on hotdogs, Kaoru made himself sick on cotton candy. There were ethnic foods from god knew what countries, there was a fountain that he and Kaoru dove into until the police patrolling the festival chased them away. The water destroyed the style in their hair, making them more identical than ever. Soon after their arrival Kaoru stole his phone and sent cryptic drunk-text messages to Haruhi. Hikaru nearly killed him for that, but Kaoru just laughed, and Haruhi responded cheerfully enough.

Fernando was true to his word; he stayed in sight, but far off, and seemed to be enjoying himself as well.

The noise was fantastic, the food was better, and the afternoon waned.

They tormented a small Mexican-American kid by convincing him they were a single supervillain who could change places at lightning speed. Then they accidentally made him cry, so they made up for his distress by buying him ice cream, telling him they were really sent by Spider-Man to test his mettle, good for him he had passed the test, and was worthy of becoming Los Angeles’ personal superhero.

As the kid strutted down the street, full of his new identity, Hikaru touched Kaoru’s arm. Kaoru stopped laughing and looked at him. “Kaoru,” he said softly. “I’m not planning on going back for the reception.”

The consequences would be horrific. Hikaru knew it. He didn’t care. But he didn’t want to drag Kaoru down with him.

Kaoru just nodded, not looking at all surprised, and took Hikaru’s hand. He jerked his head towards the street. “I think there’s a parade starting over there. We should go get a front-row seat.”

They did. It was a wide street, so they lounged against barriers on the sidewalk. Just from the glee of knowing that no one could understand them, they started insulting their fellow festival-attendees.

“What a horrible fashion sense.”

“Come on, it’s commoner dress, Hikaru. You can’t blame them for not having the time to dress themselves properly.”

“But Haruhi’s a commoner and she always looks fantastic.”

“You’re biased.”

“Seriously, though! Look! Who in their right mind thinks that plaid and polka dots go together?”

“Look, Electro at three o’clock.”

“That…is actually awesome.”

“What are you talking about? His hair is full of _glitter_.”

“You should dye your hair that shade next time.”

“Only if you dye your hair with pink glitter.”

“Deal.”

“Are you kidding?”

“C’mon, the girls’ll eat it up. It’ll go down as the Twins’ Glitter Phase. We’ll do our nails and everything. Don’t look at me like that, we’ve done weirder.”

“…Hikaru.”

“What?”                                                                           

“We should get to the music room early and glitterify everything.”

Hikaru burst out laughing, and Kaoru joined in.

“Oh, you are so handsome!”

The twins looked to their right. A beaming woman, pressed up against the barricade by the growing crowd, held up a camera. Her thick dark hair was full of flowers; her coffee skin went with her Spanish-accented English that made her all but impossible to understand. She gestured, and Hikaru managed to make out the word, “Picture?” Hikaru swept his gaze over her less-than chic clothes and expensive camera. She was a pretty, young twenty-something; probably a photography student.

“’Course!”

Kaoru slung his arm over Hikaru’s shoulders, Hikaru put his arm around Kaoru’s waist, and they both made faces. The woman laughed and snapped photos. They changed positions. More photos. They gave superhero poses, rockstar poses, smiling poses, silly poses, pretending-to-choke-each-other-with-their-scarves poses until they both cracked up. _Snap, snap, snap_.

“Ask her if we can have those photos,” Kaoru chuckled, leaning against the barricade as the woman thanked the pair of them and started aiming her camera at the police who were lining up to start the parade. Hikaru gave her their contact information. She smiled and nodded.

The crowd was pressing against them, stifling. It occurred to Hikaru that he hadn’t seen Fernando in a while. Had they lost him?

“Gosh, it’s hot,” Kaoru fanned himself with his hand. “Why’d you make me wear this jacket for?”

“Whiner,” Hikaru shoved his shoulder. “I’ll go grab us s’more ice cream.”

Kaoru grabbed his hand. “Hikaru?” His expression turned serious.

“What?”

“I meant what I said last night. About not leaving.”

The corner of Hikaru’s mouth jerked upwards. They stood there silently, watching the street, holding hands. Hikaru gave Kaoru a squeeze and let go. “I know. Save my spot.” He wriggled through the crowd, fighting his way to the edge. The rest of the festival area was slightly emptier now, making it a quick walk to the nearest ice-cream vender. Hikaru purchased two towering cones, and then turned around to see a Hitachiin security guard marching down the street.

Hikaru dashed behind the vender’s stall and flattened himself against the wall. He peered out after a moment. The guard walked slowly, turning his head in all directions.

_We’re being hunted! Are there others?_

A daring grin lit up his face. Hikaru ducked behind the stall again, waiting several minutes. When he looked out again the guard had passed. Hikaru slipped out and tiptoed after him. The guard stopped. Hikaru ducked behind and overflowing trash can that stood at the entrance of an alley. He rose, stretching his neck until his eyes peeked over the top. The guard turned with a jerk.

_Damn!_

Hikaru shrank back down and glanced behind him. A large box, taller than he, filled with refuse and stinking filled the alley. Hikaru backed away, squeezing behind it, still clutching the ice cream cones, kicking aside empty popcorn bags and candy wrappers. He crouched down, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Why did commoners just leave their trash in boxes like this? Did they just fill them up, one by one, and leave them there to smell forever? Surely there was a better way to do it, like incineration.

It was a good call. The guard’s footsteps sounded loud in the narrow passage. He stood there for a long time.

_Damn it! Did he see me? What’s he waiting for?_

Hikaru’s heart pounded loud in his ears. He held his breath.

The guard’s voice. “Yes, of course I’m here.” Hikaru recognized the voice. This was the same guard who had summoned them to his father’s suite last night. The guard paused. Then, “Are you in position?” Silence. “What do you _mean_ , you’ve lost one of them?” Hikaru shifted as his foot started to fall asleep. He grinned again, heart pounding against his ribcage. “Do you still have one in your sights at least? Well then, which one is it? You don’t even know that?”

Kaoru! They could see Kaoru! Hikaru had to warn him. Hikaru looked forlornly at the melting ice cream cone towers, then glanced around. He spotted an empty plastic cup, set it on one end, and carefully balanced one of the cones in it. He told himself it was perfectly sanitary; the cone was covered in paper. Commoner ingenuity. Now, where was his phone?

“Hold on, he’s calling.” A pause. “Yes sir. He’s lost one. I don’t know. Are you sure?”

This was more like it. Excitement galore. Would they have to hide in the sewers all night?

_I should be a secret agent. Nah, we should both be secret agents. Partners in espionage._

Hikaru dug through all of his pants pockets, then his jacket's, then double-checked the others, with no luck.

_I’ll have to tell the Boss about that one. We’ve never done a spy theme. The girls’d love it._

Another brief pause. “You are certain you don’t know where the other one is? Very well. He says if you have a clear shot, take it.”

Hikaru was so preoccupied with finding his missing phone that it took several long moments to register what the guard had just said. Hikaru’s eyebrows bunched together. _What_?

“Yes, I know that wasn’t the plan, but since you bungled the plan we’re going with this one. If you hit civilians, fine, but make sure you get him.”

Time slowed, and Hikaru had to suppress an urge to laugh at the absurdity. What were they going to do, tackle Kaoru? Drag him away in chains? He wasn’t a criminal, for god’s sake, no one had told them they couldn’t leave the hotel.

“It’s not your job to think. If you refuse to kill the boy, he’s going to think you can’t be trusted, and you’ll be next.”

Hikaru's mind froze.

_No. No. Can't--it's not--_

These were their bodyguards. These were their protection, annoying as they were. It wasn’t what it sounded like—

“Right. Hikaru or Kaoru. You have two minutes.”

Hikaru shivered, suddenly light-headed. He thought he might faint. His fingers were numb. The ice cream was melting. With a horrific shock Hikaru realized where his phone must be.

With Kaoru. Texting Haruhi, again.

Hikaru quivered.

They had joked about kidnapping. They had been tutored on how to react to kidnapping. What to say, what not to say, which orders to obey, which to disobey, how to react to kidnappers with guns—

Kaoru. Kaoru was going to be shot. Hikaru peeked out from behind the dumpster. He would fight his way out. He would make a break for it. He would scream bloody murder. He would—the guard—assassin??— put the phone in his pocket and left. Hikaru dropped the other cone, scrambled out from behind the dumpster and broke into a run.

He thought frantically about police, about help, about anybody. Why were the streets so damn _empty_? Where were the police when you needed them?

 _“You have two minutes._ ”

Fear twisted cold through him, overwhelmed only by the adrenaline. He gasped, reached the edges of the crowd. The absurdity of the situation didn’t matter anymore.

“Kaoru!” He shouted, shoving his way through the crowd. He tried to scream, “Murder! Police! Help!” but all foreign languages had fled from his brain and he could only shout in Japanese. People gave him disgusted looks as he shoved them, and they shoved him back. He remembered English and he shouted, but it was noisy. Too noisy. Children screaming, the parade had started, it was loud, there was a fire truck wailing its siren for their entertainment.

 _Fernando,_ he thought desperately. Perhaps Fernando would protect him—

He got closer to the barricade, saw with intense relief that Kaoru’s bright hair was nowhere to be seen.  Hikaru didn’t even think about the fact that this meant he was in the line of fire now. He only thought, perhaps Kaoru had gotten away, perhaps Fernando had warned him, perhaps he had—

Kaoru’s head popped up, grinning, and he handed something to a woman who seemed to be thanking him.

“Kaoru!” Hikaru screamed in desperation. Kaoru turned in surprise. “Kaoru, get down!”

Kaoru stared at him in confusion. With a burst of superhuman strength, Hikaru shoved his way through the last few people and collided with his brother. Kaoru staggered.

The world spun and turned upside down. Someone screamed. Hikaru didn’t understand why.

They toppled over onto the pavement.


	5. Which one are you?

My head rang. My shoulder ached. I’d hit it against the barricade. My back soaked up the heat of the pavement .The pressure of the crowd had suddenly dissipated. Screaming. What…?

My vision was dark. Hikaru. I pushed against him, pushed him off, pushed myself up. Hikaru lay across my lap. What was left of the light of day stung my eyes. My head whirled. I wavered, putting my hand against the pavement to steady myself. I put it in something wet. I blinked. My vision cleared and I looked down. Hikaru had rolled over, face up, staring up at the sky, legs sprawled across mine.

He was lying in a rapidly growing puddle of blood.

Adrenaline slammed into my gut.

“ _Hikaru!_ ” I scrambled onto my knees and grabbed his shoulders. His head lolled. My hands left bloody palm-prints on his jacket. I pulled his body up, frantically searching for the injury.

_Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding…_

I looked up at the crowd. “Help!” I screamed. “Somebody help!” Most ran away, but a few stood motionless a short distance away, horrified fascination in their faces. Blood squelched between my fingers behind his shoulder. I cradled HIkaru’s upper body with one arm, pressing his shoulder between my palms.

HIkaru’s lips moved without sound, staring up at me, eyes wide with shock.

“It’s okay, Hika-chan, I’ve got you—hold on—” I leaned over, using my body as a shield from further harm. His lips were blue, his face gray. His uninjured arm rose from the ground and gripped my jacket sleeve, lips no longer moving in silent speech, but quivering. I felt his breath stutter in his chest as I gripped him to me. Hikaru’s pupils dilated. His eyes struggled to focus. His fingers spasmed and he let go of my sleeve.

Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me upwards and back. Hikaru slipped away. I screamed, kicking back, struggling, pummeling my attacker with my fists—

It wasn’t an attacker. It was a guard. Fernando. He pushed me to a building wall, shouting into a headpiece in English. I made out garbled words.

“—shot—twin—shot—need— _now_.” He grabbed me in his arms, bear-hug like, and pulled me down the street.

“No!” I cried, trying to twist away from him.

“Are you hurt?” He shouted to me.

“Let me go!” I shrieked in a strange mixture of English and Japanese.

“Are you hurt?”

“Don’t leave him—let me _go_ —he needs me—”

A security van pulled up. Fernando shoved me inside, slamming and locking the door, and then clambered into the passenger seat up front. A woman with graying hair and sharp cheekbones floored the pedal and we shot away.

“Stop it!” I shouted. “Turn around! Take me back!” I grabbed the door handle and yanked. I would jump. I didn’t care how fast we were speeding.

The door wouldn’t open.

“Dear,” the woman said. “Medics are with your brother. We need to get you away. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Everything was _not_ going to be fine. Hikaru had been shot. I shrank back, gasping. My vision went fuzzy. I gripped the edge of the seat. My stomach roiled, full of popcorn and hot dogs and ice cream and cotton candy and mystery fried foods with no name—

Fernando turned around. “Breathe,” he said in heavily accented Japanese, reaching across and covering my mouth and nose with a paper bag. I gripped it. My frantic gasping inflated and deflated the bag with loud crinkling noises. My head cleared, slightly.

“Yes?” Fernando spoke into his earpiece again with urgency. He said something else, but it was in English and I didn’t understand. He looked at the woman. She glanced back at him.

“What’s happened?” I dropped the bag and it floated to the floor. “Where are you going? Take me to the hospital. Now.”

“We’re taking you to the hotel,” said the woman softly. “Security forces and police are standing by.”

“Take me to the hospital!” I shouted. “Take me to my brother or I’ll have both of your fired!”

“Dear,” the woman said. She stopped. I was gasping too hard again, but I didn’t retrieve the bag. I glared at them both.

“Take me to my brother,” I repeated.

“I’m so sorry.” The woman said, her eyes went back to the road. “Dear, the medics called it. Your brother is dead.”

The engine purred. Buildings flashed by the tinted windows. Rosy sunlight flashed across my lap. I sat there. Fernando turned around and looked at me again. My gaze slowly fell. I looked at my hands where they squeezed the edge of the seat. They, and my pants, and even my jacket and shirt – were splashed with slowly congealing blood. My left leg had it particularly bad. So did one end of my scarf. My shoes were clean, though. I looked at my scarf. A droplet trembled on the end, and then splashed to the seat. A clot was the center of the droplet; only a little bit was truly liquid, and I watched it sprout red legs, spider-like, along the individual wrinkles of the leather.

I leaned over and vomited onto the floor.

Someone was moaning. I opened my eyes. I half-lay across the backseat of the van. My forearm pillowed my forehead. My vomit pooled on the floor. There was a lot of it. It was chunky. I could actually smell the sugar with the bile. I closed my eyes and threw up again.

A large hand at my back. Paper towels at my mouth. I shoved them away. The moaning continued.

“Dear,” the woman’s voice.

How long had it been? Hours, I thought. We’d been driving for hours.

A more rational piece of my subconscious told me it had only been half a minute since they had told me about Hikaru.

“Dear, what’s your name?”

I opened my eyes, and the sight of my vomit made me heave again, but my stomach was empty. Only saliva came out. I spat. Sticky tears were on my cheeks, but that was from the intensity of the vomiting. I think.

“I’m sorry, this is important. I need you to answer me. We need to know. Which one are you?”

_They don’t know._

_They don’t know which one of us—_

Of course not. We were identical. Our hair was lacking any sense of order. We had splashed in that fountain, like the five-year-olds who had splashed in the pond behind our house and caught that frog that we had given Auntie a fright with.

Or had we been six? Seven? How old had we been, exactly? I thought five was right, but the memory was so clear, we must have been older. I could still see it; the pond, glittering in the shadows, the preparations for the party taking place on the lawn just beyond the tree-line, Hikaru stumping through the underbrush—

“What’s your name?”

The voice cruelly yanked me back to the present. My mind went fuzzy. Why was it important? They didn't know which one was which, so why did they care? A voice that I recognized as my own spoke of its own volition, high, husky, gurgling with the taste of vomit still on my tongue, full of horrible anger.

“ _Hikaru_. I’m _Hikaru_.”

“All right, Hikaru-kun. Try to relax. We’ll get you to a secure location soon.”

The rational piece of my subconscious poked the part that had made my mouth speak. Puzzled, it asked why I had lied.

“Shut up,” my mouth said out loud, both to the security people and to my rational mind. So my rational mind shut up, and I didn’t hear from it again for weeks.

Finally, peace and quiet. I laid my head on the seat. My cheek was sticky, or the seat was. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care. I closed my eyes.

*

I slumped in a hard wooden chair in front of a plain wooden table, staring at the concrete wall across from me. A pile of construction materials sat jumbled in a corner. A single guard stood in the room with me at the door. Several more were stationed outside. Packages of peanuts and dried fruit and granola bars and water bottles and Pepsi cans lay scattered across the table. Everything was unopened, except a single water bottle. I’d taken a couple sips from it, just to clear the taste of sick from my mouth.

A few moments after arriving here, the guard had stepped outside to speak to his supervisor and shut the door behind him. The same part of me that had told my mouth to say my name was Hikaru realized that there was a problem with this lie. There was an obvious way I could be recognized. So I stood up, undid my belt and slid it out of the loops. It was good, supple leather. I wound it around my hand, leaving several inches on one end loose. I braced my head with my free hand, and struck myself with the end of the belt. Reflexive tears sprang into my eyes. I hit myself again just in case, then slipped my belt back on and sat back down.

Now I, too, had been backhanded.

A single nurse had come to examine me soon afterward, hurriedly, shining a light in my eye, examining a bruise on my scalp. I had a mild concussion, apparently, from hitting my head when Hikaru knocked me down, but there was nothing else the matter with me.

My clothes scratched my skin, stiff with Hikaru’s blood. The nurse had insisted that I clean my hands, so I did. She had cleaned my face. I had been splattered at some point and I didn’t even know. The nurse left. No one brought me clean clothes. A long time passed before they brought me food and drink. Which, again, I mostly hadn’t touched. I didn’t feel hungry. Or thirsty. Not worried, not bored, not upset.

I just sat there. Time may have been rocketing by, it may have frozen. I had no way of knowing. There wasn’t a clock in the room. I didn’t remember much about how I got here; I thought it must be the basement of the hotel.

I only moved once, when the light flickered. I glanced up at the glowing square in the ceiling. I wasn’t curious whether it would go out or not; I simply watched, reacting to my surroundings on instinct like a bored animal.

Bored.

Bored.

_“Ugh, I am so bored.”_

_“Isn’t there anything we can do around here?”_

_“We didn’t have anything else to do! We were bored!” Laughter._

_“This game is…getting kinda boring.”_

_“That Suoh kid. What’s his deal?”_

_“Think about it, Kaoru! We could play this for years and never get bored!”_

I listened to the voices in my head languidly, my gaze slipping back down to the wall.

Knocking on the door. The guard cracked it open. Voices muttered. Footsteps stopped behind me.

“Master Hikaru.” I didn’t move. “I will escort you to your parents now.” The words clanged around my skull and my sluggish brain tried to fit them together. They held no meaning. “Master Hikaru, come.”

I stood and left, guided by the hand on my shoulder. We went up a concrete flight of stairs – too dangerous to use the elevator? – and walked through lush hallways. Conference room doors with fogged glass lined the walls, as did more guards. The utter silence clashed with the sparkle and the men and women in uniform.

We stopped in front of a door. My guard knocked, another one opened it. My guard nudged my shoulder and I stepped into the room. The door closed behind me.

My mother was sitting. My father was standing. They were both horribly pale. My mother gripped a crumpled handkerchief in her hand; some hair had slipped out of her updo and it hung around her face in strands. She looked at me with a trembling expression of stunned grief. I flickered my gaze away from her and to my father. His hand rested on my mother’s chair. I couldn’t read his expression.

“Well?” he said at last. I just looked at him. “The nurse tells me you have a concussion.”

My voice was rusty from lack of water and my throat hurt from my previous screaming. My lips formed the words more than once before a whisper came out, all but inaudible.

“Yes sir.”  

“Do you feel well?”

“Yes sir.”

“You are not otherwise hurt?”

“No sir.”

I flexed the fingers of my left hand, instinctually seeking comfort, even though for the first time I didn’t feel any discomfort in my father’s presence. My fingers met only air. I blinked slowly in surprise. Oh. Of course. There was no one standing beside me.

A heavy, thick, stifling silence blanketed everybody. It was probably awkward, but I couldn’t feel awkwardness. My father glanced down at my mother.

“Hikaru?” she whispered. I glanced at her. “I’m glad you’re safe.” I looked back at my father.

“Hikaru,” said my father. “Answer your mother.”

I looked at her again. I was distracted for a moment, trying to remember if there was another time I had seen her cry. I couldn’t think of one. It took me a long time to remember what she had said. I didn’t know how to respond. Luckily, my mouth took over again and responded for me, still in that barely-there whisper.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Hikaru.”

“Yes sir.”

“The perpetrators have not been caught, but the grounds have been cleared. You will be escorted to a secure room for the night.”

“Yes sir.”

“We will fly out as soon as safe transportation can be arranged.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Hikaru?”

“Yes sir.”

“I expect a full report on what you and Kaoru were doing outside of the grounds.”

_Well_ , a snarky voice inside my head answered, _We were eating junk and giving children superpowers, mostly._

That voice was not in charge of my mouth, though, so I said nothing.

“ _Hikaru._ ” A stern rebuke. _Acknowledge my order_ , it meant.

“Yes sir.”

“But not now. You are dismissed.”

My guard took me to another room; a small thing, single bed and a bathroom, in a corner of the hotel. No windows. A terrified looking hotel maid delivered a pair of generic gray pajamas. The guard told me to change in the bathroom and to put my bloody clothes into a plastic bag. I started to obey, but after undressing I stopped. I sat on the edge of the tub, the bag open at my feet, half-full of clothes, holding the jacket in my hand. I stared at the stains along its hem for so long that the guard banged on the door, gruffly asking if I was okay.

“Yes.” I put the jacket in the bag with the other things and tied it closed. Then I put on the pajamas. The guard took the bag from me when I emerged, and I felt a tiny urge to protest. He told me to lie down and go to sleep. I obeyed the first part, but it took me a long time to obey the second. I stared at the ceiling on top of the covers for a long time. I remember seeing the sky turn pink. I think I fell asleep eventually, but I’m not sure. If I did, I didn’t dream. I stayed in bed after it was bright outside, just staring. Only when someone knocked on the door and gave me a clean change of clothes did I get up. They gave me food – hot food this time – and told me to eat. Technically I obeyed, but a single bite didn’t do much for me.

“Can I see him?” I asked my guard once.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Please let me see him.” My plea sounded feeble and childlike even to my own ears.

“He’s with the police now, and you need to stay here.”

I asked again when we were visited by a detective. I told what I knew, which was summed up in one short sentence, and then I pleaded with her.

“I want to see him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My brother. Please let me see him.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“I’ll wait for as long as I need to, but please. I need to see him.”

“I’m sorry, it—it really is impossible.”

“ _Please._ ”

“He’s already been cremated.”

Even in my stunned state I felt startled. Not hurt, not affronted; just startled.

The guard was startled too. He pulled her to the side and a rough whispering battle ensured, of which I heard every word.

“What do you mean, the body has been cremated?”

“Just what I said. Why?”

“Who gave you the authority to do that?”

“I don’t know, it wasn’t my doing.”

“The Hitachiins gave strict orders that he was _not_ to be cremated yet.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask at the station. My job is solely to interview the witnesses.”

“Have the Lord and Lady been told?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that either. I must go now. Good day.”

We left for Japan late that evening. I didn’t speak to my parents, but my father looked livid the entire flight back, and he kept speaking on the phone with his lawyer.

 


	6. Ghost Echoes

Tamaki heard first.

And for once, he was not overdramatic.

He only left Music Room #3 because the school administration (aka his father) had asked him to come to his office. Kyoya knew as soon as this happened that something must be wrong. The fact that Tamaki left all smiles and came back looking like he was about to faint only confirmed it.

Kyoya rushed – you could almost say, bolted – away from his startled guests to his friend’s side. Because even though Tamaki was full of drama, this faintness was genuine. Tamaki gripped his arm hard and whispered in his ear.

It stunned even Kyoya. _Impossible_. He struggled to control his face.

_Keep cool. Keep calm._

“Are you sure?” he asked in the same neutral tone he used for everything. Tamaki numbly nodded. “You aren’t jumping to conclusions drawn from random facts?”

“I just told you what they told me,” Tamaki whispered, and Kyoya knew then that it was fact.

“Sit down,” he ordered and Tamaki dropped to an empty seat. “Excuse me,” Kyoya loudly addressed the room. “I’m terribly sorry, but we have to end early today. Please say your goodbyes and exit quickly and quietly.”

The girls murmured to each other as they filed out of the room. Some of them started to ask questions, to inquire after Tamaki’s health, but the seriousness on Kyoya’s face silenced those questions before the left their mouths. Kyoya closed the door, and locked it. (“He has the key to this room?” the other hosts wondered in surprise.)

“Kyoya-senpai?” Haruhi’s voice. She and Kasanoda stood behind him, the only other hosts present other than himself and Tamaki. “What’s wrong?”

Tamaki hunched over in the chair, face buried in his hands. Kyoya took his hand away from the knob, slowly, and turned around. “We have just received very distressing news,” he told them. “Please brace yourselves.” He waited a few seconds, and then said, “A successful assassination attempt took place yesterday in the Hitachiin family. The target was Kaoru.”

Haruhi took a quick step backwards, as if she’d almost lost her balance. Kasanoda steadied her with a hand on her back. Haruhi took his other hand as she wobbled again and caught herself again.

“Kaoru’s dead?” Haruhi asked, but the question didn’t seem to be directed at Kyoya. She stared at the floor.

Tamaki’s quiet sob was answer enough. Kyoya put a hand on his shoulder, to steady himself as much as Tamaki.

“Who?” choked out Kasanoda. “Who did it?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know.”

“How’s…” Haruhi began and didn’t finish.

“The remaining Hitachiins are unhurt. They are flying back as we speak.”

Haruhi let go of Kasanoda’s hand. She stepped forward, walked up to Tamaki, and knelt down. “Senpai? Are you okay?”

Tamaki grabbed her hand and pulled her head to his shoulder, his own shoulders quaking. For once, Haruhi didn’t protest. Her wet gasps revealed that she was crying as well. Kasanoda stood on the opposite side of Tamaki, placing a soft hand on Haruhi’s head. He was not crying, but was having an obvious struggle to keep it together.

Kyoya didn’t claim to have a special attachment to either one of the twins. But the absence of one, well…it would put a gaping hole in all of their relationships. And he grieved for that, at least.

*

We didn’t go back to the house. Security reasons, we were told. They had to do background checks on all the servants first. I didn’t think hotels were any safer, but it wasn’t up to me. I stayed silent.

We spent a single night at a hotel that was only a mile or so away from the mansion. I slept for real this time, and when my guard woke me my mind seemed to be starting to work again.

“Here you are,” he said, handing me a clean black suit as I sat on the bed, bare feet pressed against the floor. I took it.

“What’s this for?”

“The wake.”

I stared at it. Hikaru’s funeral.

No, my funeral.

I was the one that was dead.

I almost laughed, but that would be dangerous. Laughter was dangerously close to…the other thing. I let out a huffy breath instead.

“Is it today?”

“Yes, sir. This afternoon.”

“Why are you giving it to me now?”

“It’s noon. The service starts in two hours.”

So I showered and put the suit on. I combed my hair and stared at my face in the mirror.

Something was wrong.

Something…

Oh. My hair. It was the wrong way. I was Hikaru.

I combed it the other way and then emerged from the bathroom, fumbling with the tie. I couldn’t get it right. The guard silently fixed it for me and prodded me outside the room.

A sharp ache in my stomach. Huh. I was actually hungry. Then the guard opened the door to the dining room, and my parents were there, eating. My appetite vanished as I stood unmoving in the doorway.

“Sit down, Hikaru,” my father said.

My mind was awake this time. I controlled my mouth.

“Why?”

His eyes flashed, but his voice remained calm. “For eating, of course. Have a seat.”

“Before the service,” I said. “Shouldn’t I see your makeup artist?”

My father glanced at my bruised cheek. “No need. Now sit.”

Of course I didn’t need a makeup artist now. I had been the victim of an attempted assassination. Nobody would know these bruises had come from my father.

I obeyed. A plate was set in front of me, steaming. At the smell my hunger came back and I ate, ignoring my parents as best I could. To my gratified surprise, they didn’t say anything more to me. We ate silently, they murmured instructions to various guards and other servants that came to them with reports.

My father threw down his napkin. “It’s time to go. Come, Hikaru.”

I downed another glass of water before following them out of the room.

*

It was silent in the limousine.

We were driving to my brother’s funeral in a damn limousine.

I sat as far away from my parents as I could, hands resting on my legs and looking pale against the black. I kept my head bowed, stealing a few sideways glances at my mother. She sat tapping away on her phone, hair perfect, mouth in a crooked line of concentration. Any vestiges of trauma and grief had been cleaned away.

The limo slid to a smooth stop. The door swung open.

_Flash. Flash._

Light blinded my retinas.

Cameras. The media. _Why_? Why here? My parents stepped out. Voices babbled just beyond the door while I sat frozen in my seat.

“Master Hikaru?”

_What would Hikaru do?_

The question stunned me. What _would_ Hikaru do? I knew he would want to tell them all exactly what he thought, illustrating his oratory with obscene hand gestures, but then I was always there to tell him not to do such a thing; “They’ll lap it up like over-excited feral dogs.” What would he do if he were by himself going to my funeral and the media presence was pissing him off?

There was no way to know.

And I, I would want to do what I was thinking about doing now – curl up in a fetal position in the corner of the vehicle. And Hikaru would say, _Head up, shoulders back, ignore them if you can, give them dirty looks if you can’t, and for god’s sake don’t say a word._

So I stepped out.

 _Flash. Flash_.

I found the sidewalk, spotted the backs of my parents, and hurried after them.

_Flash. Flash._

Thankfully, no one was asking questions, and there were Hitachiin bodyguards clearing a path.

I disobeyed Hikaru – I kept my head down. But it was easier to plow through that way, and the camera flashes didn’t blind my eyes so badly.

We made it inside the venue. Large and spacious, smelling of rich velvet and oak wood. Bright colored decorations, rows of seats, and at the front –

How were they going to do this? The Americans had cremated him already. The entire ceremony would be out of order.

With guards still flanking me, I was pressed to the wall and made my way down to the front of the room. I wanted to look away from the display, but my gaze kept being drawn to it. I only stumbled three times.

It looked to be an awkward mixture of the Japanese wake and the Western memorial service. The display was ornate, but instead of a coffin there was an urn and a large framed photograph on a little table, and in front of that was the incense alter. The entire display was covered in elaborate flower arrangements and reeking.

_Flash. Flash._

The media was in here too. I glanced over the crowded room before sitting down next to my mother. Important delegates, business partners, distant family – Auntie was in the row behind us. I refused to look at her – and a roped-off media section. The seating arrangements could be for a press conference. Uneasiness rooted in the pit of my stomach as I sat there, twitching, for what felt like an eternity. The room was hushed, broken only by soft murmurs. Just before the service began, a quiet whisper managed to carry through the room and reach me. An electric spark went through my arms at the sound of it. I looked over my shoulder.

I had not been mistaken.

Tamaki. And just behind him, finding seats, Mori, Honey, Kyoya, Kasanoda – _Haruhi._ Tamaki looked in my direction. I jerked my head back around to the front. The priest started chanting. So strange, seeing them all here. I had not seen any of them, not heard from any of them, since before we left, with the exception of Haruhi.

I had texted Haruhi with Hikaru’s stolen phone no more than five minutes before he’d been shot.

I stared at the photo on the table, tuning out the words, willing myself not to think, not to hear, not to feel a thing. I let out a gasp, and felt my father’s harsh glare, but I didn’t look at him. I recognized the photo on the table. It was from last year’s Ouran yearbook. The name on the display was my own.

But, irony of ironies, it was a photo of Hikaru.

We had switched identities that day, just to screw with the world, and to have the world’s stupidity engrained forever in the yearbook. Chills went down my spine. Hikaru smirked at me, frozen in time, the wicked curve of his upper lip and eyes that shone with insults and partially-formed schemes giving away his identity.

And I was the only one who could see it.

My breath caught.

My father stood up, giving me a merciful distraction. He went to the front, glare gone, face grim and almost human. He offered incense once.

Twice.

_Flash._

Three times.

My stomach roiled.

_I’m going to have to go up there._

My mother slowly got to her feet and walked to the front, her pace slow. She looked unsteady.

_Flash, flash, flash, flash._

I felt sick, staring at the photo. My breath dragged in my throat like skin drags along sandpaper.

_I can’t go up there._

My mother offered incense once, with shaking hands. She looked suddenly distraught, a magical change from the cool statue inside the limousine.

_I can’t go up there, Hikaru. I can’t._

She offered incense again. Someone whimpered.

My throat burned. My breathing was audible now. My insides quivered.

My mother started offering once more, and then suddenly stopped. That whimper again. Then, without warning, she fell onto her knees and started to wail.

My mouth dropped open.

_Flash, flash, flash, flash._

My father ran to her, dropped beside her.

_Flash, flash._

The crowd murmured. I glanced to the side. Cameras flashed in my direction. Complete strangers dabbed at their eyes.

“Yuzuha,” my father’s voice was wrong. Soft and compassionate.

The trembling inside of my suddenly erupted to the outside. I started shaking.

_It’s a farce._

It was a gimmick. A media display. A thing all set to hit the front pages tomorrow if they played their cards right.

My mother finished, walking to the side, supported by my father.

 _I can’t go up there, Hikaru._ My thoughts were a plea. I was not going to be part of a disrespectful display. My father looked at me, arms around my mother. He jerked his head. It was my turn.

 _I can’t go up there._ I begged, wishing for Hikaru’s pardon. I didn’t expect his permission, but that was what I got.

_Damn right you won’t._

_I won’t._

I was still shaking, a low murmur had started again. People were looking at me. My father had an almost comical battle going on – trying to glare at me while still looking compassionate.

I jumped to my feet and ran.

I went down the center isle; the guards couldn’t reach me quickly then. My legs were long. Hikaru and I were fast. I sped down the length of the room, caught a blurred glimpse of Tamaki’s upturned face, and burst through the doors on the end, leaving the whole mess behind me.

There were shouts of surprise; there was more security here, but they were hampered by the stunned caterers of the event who scrambled out of my charging way. I raced up a flight of stairs, wound around corners, forced my way into a random room, and shut the door. I stood there breathing hard for a good minute before I turned around.

Little more than a large storage closet, the small room held two bookshelves, a plastic table with its legs folded up leaning against the wall (I’d seen one on a commoner’s shopping trip with Haruhi), a few mismatched chairs, and thick dusty curtains hanging over a single window. I pressed my back against the wall next to the door and slid to the ground.

“Hikaru?”

I jumped. Haruhi’s voice came from beyond the door.

“Hikaru, I know you’re in there. Let me in.”

 _She doesn’t know._ Horror seeped through my limbs. _Oh my god, she doesn’t know._

What had I done? Hikaru was dead and Haruhi _didn’t know._

“If you don’t open this door I’m forcing my way in and there are security guards coming.”

I stood up and opened the door, light splashing into the room, keeping my eyes averted from her face as she stepped in. I closed it again.

“How’d you—” I began.

“You were upset and I thought you might run, so I left a minute before you did and followed you.” She peered up into my face.  “Hikaru, are you—” She stopped. The security guards’ footsteps passed outside. I swallowed and risked a glance down at her. An expression I’d never seen before was frozen on her face. Shock, horror, grief, confusion—vulnerability. I shuddered. Stoic Haruhi looked vulnerable. Her lips barely moved as she spoke in a horse whisper. “Kaoru?”

I turned my back on her and covered my face with one hand.

“Kaoru, what are you _doing_?”

“Hikaru’s gone,” I said. “It’s me.”

Still in that hoarse whisper. “Why? Who knows? Did your parents—”

“No one knows,” I said. “Just you.”

She cleared her throat, accusatory and shaky. “Why?”

Why, indeed? I didn’t know, so I didn’t answer.

“This is wrong. You should have told me.”

I hunched my shoulders. “Sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_?” Haruhi’s anger buffeted against my back. I hunched my shoulders. “You know you can’t keep doing this, right, Kaoru?”

“Why not?” I turned around again, answering her anger with a glare. “You can’t tell.”

“I’m not going to tell, Kaoru,” her eyes flashed. “Except for our friends. It’s your business. But you should.”

“You can tell the others,” I said. The Host Club. “That’s it.”

We stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. A distant murmur of voices was evidence of the quiet chaos I must have caused by running out. Someone passed by our door again. Haruhi’s face twisted and straightened.

“I—” she coughed. “I’m glad you’re—but—” her calm voice broke. “I’m sorry—I can’t—” then her calm face broke. She fumbled with the doorknob, yanked it open, and fled.

*

My father’s face was stone. His hand clamped around my forearm, his fingertips digging into my flash.

_Flash, flash._

“Hikaru, what’s going through your mind?”

“Was the emotional turmoil too much?”

“Why did you run out?”

“Is it true that Kaoru Hitachiin’s body was cremated without your family’s permission?”

We reached the limo. I stopped. My father yanked on my arm. I turned to look at the cameras.

_Flash, flash, flash._

“Hikaru. Get. In. the. Car.”

The flood of questions stopped. I saw microphones held up. The pain in my arm was growing.

I wasn’t afraid.

I looked them all in the eye, held up a carefully selected finger, and spoke, calm and loud: “Go to hell.”

Far from looking insulted, the reporters looked delighted. _Flash._ Only then did I turn and get into the vehicle. My father’s rage burned silently, and I wondered what he was going to do to me when we got home. I didn’t care. My comment to the press had not been for the press’s benefit.

*

For five straight minutes, I didn’t even bother listening to my father. There were no recognizable sentences that I could make out; it was a long string of curse words. I stood there with my hands in my pockets, staring straight ahead while he paced and railed.

“—any idea? The embarrassment – your mother – insensitive – disrespectful of your brother—”

I jerked out of my mind-fog. “Disrespect?” I said. He didn’t hear me.

“—utterly shameful—”

“Shameful?” I said, louder. He paused, lips pulled back in what could be called a snarl, eyebrows lifting at my audacity. “You think I was disrespectful? What was the media doing there?”

His hacking laugh sounded like a cat coughing up a furball. “We are an influential family, and it’s only decent that we—”

“Decent?” I interrupted again. “That display? The melodramatic tears? Where did she scrounge them up, I wonder?” _Eyedrops_ , Hikaru suggested. “Eyedrops?” I echoed.

My father’s mouth dropped open. “How – _DARE_ you!” he roared. “Yuzuha is your mother, she is distraught, and you dare to suggest—”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Distraught.” I tilted my head thoughtfully. “She cares about us. That must be why we were raised by servants. That must be why we only ever saw you at mealtimes, if we were lucky. That must be why you disappeared for months on end for world tours without telling us.”

“HIKARU.”

“That must be why she only ever speaks to us at family gatherings. That must be why she and Auntie joke about aborting us.”

“Be silent!”

“It’s because she _cares_ about us. It all makes so much sense now.”

My father leaped across the room, grabbed the front of my shirt, swung me around and slammed me against the wall. I choked, the breath knocked out of me. Murder glowed in my father’s eyes. He held my shirt in both of his hands as he loomed over me face inches away from mine. I couldn’t breathe, but it was strangely satisfying to look calmly back at him.

“What are you smiling about, boy?” he hissed. Was I smiling? Apparently so. “Consider yourself under house arrest,” he whispered, his warm breath buffeting my face. “Until you get control over yourself.”

I managed to inhale some air. My father’s breath was minty. “What about school?”

“You will be tutored and given your exams here.” One of my father’s hands let go of my shirt. He pressed his other arm against my chest and leaned against it, pushing my air back out of my lungs again. His free hand gripped my limp wrist. His thumb and forefinger dug in. Pain arched from my palm to my elbow. My eyes widened, and it was my father’s turn to smile. “I am warning you this one time, Hikaru.” The pain grew and I squirmed. I tried to pull my arm back, but that made it worse. I sucked in air as stars swam across my vision. “Do not cross me, you utterly disgusting, useless excuse for a Hitachiin.”

He let me go so quickly that I slumped against the wall and fell to the ground. He turned and left the room.

 _Bastard,_ I thought.

 _Bastard,_ Hikaru said at the same time.

I cradled my arm as cool relief from the pain spread across it. I pulled back my sleeve and looked for injuries. There were bruises on my forearm from where he had forced me into the limousine, but there were no other visible injuries. Brilliant. I stood up, taking deep breaths to restore oxygen to my body, and peeked out of the room. He was long gone. I tiptoed out into the hall and made for the stairs.

 _Well, no school._ I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. At least I wouldn’t have to face whispers and the Host Club, but being trapped in the house didn’t appeal to me either.

 _Well done,_ Hikaru whined. _Now we won’t get to see Haruhi._

_Haruhi’s mad at me, remember? And what do you mean, ‘we’? You’re dead._

_Dude._ Hikaru huffed. _That’s insensitive._

I slowed as I reached the door of Hikaru’s room. My father had pulled me into the parlor as soon as we had gone inside the house. This would be my first time entering since…everything. I went inside, shut the door, and leaned against it.

The curtains were drawn, and it looked as though the maids had taken advantage of our absence to do some deep cleaning. Faint scents of bleach, polish, and other perfumes mingled with the regular smells of electronics, schoolbooks, sarcasm, and Hikaru.

I wondered briefly what my room looked like. If it was still my room at all, now that I was dead.

It didn’t matter. We both lived in this one.

I slowly crossed the room to Hikaru’s desk. The half-done hastily-scrawled first draft of an English paper that was due last week sat there, underneath Hikaru’s headphones. They were plugged into his iPod, which was plugged into the wall, forgotten in the rush to catch our early-morning flight. I picked them up, put them over my ears, and went to the perfectly unwrinkled bed and lay down on my back. I turned on the iPod. It was paused in the middle of a song. I pushed play.

Screaming and drums and electric guitar burst across my eardrums so hard and deafening that I _saw_ the vibrations in the air above my face.

I stared at the ceiling. The light in the covered window turned to sunset colors. At one point my eyes closed. I may have fallen asleep, but I doubt it. When I opened them again the room was dark. I finally sat up and pushed the headphones down so that they encircled my neck. My ears rang, and at first I didn’t hear the knocking. I blinked, rubbed my ears to make sure they weren’t making things up, and then I got up an answered the door.

A tall, black-haired maid stood there, holding an item in her outstretched palm. I blinked at her, distracted by the red curve of her mouth, she silky sheen in her hair, and how strangely attractive the black and white uniform was on her body. I’d seen her before, Hikaru and I had both noticed her, in a casual way (she was much older than us), but only from a distance. She’d never been this close to me before.

Her dark eyes went to my neck and I flushed before I realized she was looking at the headphones. The music was still screeching.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said. Her voice was low and smooth, like dark chocolate. “But I thought you might like to have this.”

I looked down at her palm. In it was nestled Hikaru’s light blue cell phone. I stared at it for a long moment before reaching out and grabbing it. Her fingers were soft. I pulled back, staring at the phone.

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

I looked up at her, surprised. She didn’t look sympathetic or sorry for me in any way, but I got the sense that she was genuinely asking if I needed anything, not simply asking if she could leave.

A thousand requests flooded into my mind and I faltered. Nobody had asked me if they could do anything for me; not really. “The other one,” I said. “I mean, Kaoru’s phone. Could you – are they – can you bring me that one?”

“I can try.”

Encouraged, another request slipped out of my mouth. “And my clothes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The clothes I was wearing. The day of the attack. I would like them back.”

Her left eyebrow arched. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I don’t know if they’re still – I don’t know if we have them still.”

“But you’ll look?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” I repeated. She nodded. I stared at her awkwardly for a few more seconds before I backed into the room and closed the door. I retreated to Hikaru’s bed and sat down, cradling the phone in my hand like it was a sacred object, just tracing my fingers over the scuffmarks and paint chips. We had been due for new phones when Hikaru died. I flipped on the desk lamp and then flipped open the phone, punching in the pin number (we knew each other’s pin numbers, of course).

There was a flood of messages and calls. None of them registered as new, though. The police must have dug through them. I felt a surge of anger on Hikaru’s behalf from the invasion of privacy. I didn’t want to listen to the voicemails; voices, they were too personal. With a morbid sort of fascination, I scrolled through Hikaru’s messages instead.

There were a few from me, but we didn’t text much (mostly because we were almost always in the same room), unless it was during class. Sometimes our phones were taken from us when we did this, and then we threw notes over Haruhi’s head, much to her irritation. But that only made it more fun.

I hovered my finger over Haruhi’s name. Of all the things we told each other, Hikaru didn’t tell me everything about Haruhi. He told me a lot, but not everything. So normally I wouldn’t hesitate to snoop through his messages, because I would already know everything contained in them anyway.

But he wasn’t here to tell me anymore.

I hesitated only a moment before tapping the thread.

 

_[Sent April 2, 3:03]_

**Moi:** ahahahahahaha hey haruhi

_[Sent 3:07]_

**Moi:** haruhi

_[Sent 3:10]_

**Moi:** hey

Haruhi

_[Sent 3:13]_

**Moi:** HARUHI

HARUHI GUESS WHAT

HEY

HARUHI

_[Received 3:16]_

**Haruhi:** What?

_[Sent 3:17]_

**Moi:** I am so high right now hahahahahahahaha :D

_[Received 3:19]_

**Haruhi:** What?

_[Sent 3:19]_

**Moi:** AMERICA IS AWESOME 8DDDDD

GOD BLESS THE COMMONERS

_[Received 3:19]_

**Haruhi:** Are you okay?

_[Sent 3:19]_

**Moi:** I AM SO HIGH HARUHI

_[Received 3:20]_

**Haruhi:** Please tell me you’re kidding.

_[Sent 3:20]_

**Moi:** HIGH

ON

CANDAAAAAAY

_[Received 3:22]_

**Haruhi:** Are you telling me you have a sugar high.

_[Sent 3:23]_

**Moi:** WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_[Received 3:23]_

**Haruhi:** Oh my god, Hikaru.

_[Sent 3:24]_

**Moi:** fjd3l &i

_[Sent 3:25]_

**Moi:** 3ee89dfs17#FES3j

GOD HARUHI I’M SORRY THAT WAS KAORU

_[Received 3:26]_

**Haruhi:** Hahahaha it all makes sense now.

_[Sent 3:26]_

**Moi:** You don’t think I’d text you something like that do you?

_[Received 3:26]_

**Haruhi:** Actually it sounds exactly like something you’d do.

_[Sent 3:26]_

**Moi:** That hurts. My jokes are much better than that.

_[Received 3:27]_

**Haruhi:** Dream on. Kaoru can imitate you perfectly in real life, of course he can over text.

_[Sent 5:31]_

**Moi:** HEY. HARUHI.

_[Received 5:35]_

**Haruhi:** Kaoru if you keep texting me I’m going to ask Kyoya-senpei to have you deported.

_[Received April 23 rd, 4:07]_

**Haruhi:** Hikaru, I just heard. I’m so, so sorry.

_[Received 4:10]_

**Haruhi:** I know you might not want to talk and that’s fine.

_[Received 4:11]_

**Haruhi:** I want you to know I’m here though. For anything. If you want to talk, or a place to get away. Anything at all. I will drop whatever I’m doing and help you, I promise.

_[Received 4:30]_

**Haruhi:** Please tell me you’re ok Hikaru.

_[Received 4:50]_

**Haruhi:** Please don’t do anything stupid.

_[Received 4:55]_

**Haruhi:** I’m here.

 

I closed the messages and got on Facebook, scrolling without thinking. I watched a cat video without seeing it, read a political rant from some obscure relative without comprehending a word, and watched highlights from a badminton tournament. Not because I had any particular interest in badminton, but just because it was there.

Oh look. I was trending. That is, Hikaru was trending. I debated for a long time looking at the thread, and eventually curiosity got the better of me. Typical social-media fashion, it was mostly outrage over “cultural insensitivity” (that’d be the cremation business) and calling for the immediate dismissal of the police chief responsible (except nobody seemed to know who that actually was). There were a few comments about what actually mattered – who was responsible for the murder (nobody knew).

A knock on the door. I closed Facebook and answered it. The maid was standing there, Kaoru’s phone—my phone—nestled on top of folded laundry. I took it.

“If it’s all right with you, sir, please don’t tell anyone I brought this to you.”

Was she going to get in trouble? Was I not supposed to have these? How had she…? “Of course I won’t,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” She turned to go.

“I mean it,” I said quickly and she glanced back at me. “Thank you.” I wanted to say, ‘You’re the only person who’s bothered to be kind,’ but I couldn’t get the words out. Instead, concerned about her job security, and wanting to thank her, I pulled out my wallet.

“I don’t want your money,” she said.

I blushed, and put it away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…uh…”

“Not at all.” Her upper lip curved slightly. She looked amused.

“’bye then,” I blurted, retreating once again into our room. I sat down on the bed again, put my phone to the side, and stared at the clothes. They smelled of detergent, but…

I unfolded the jacket, then the shirt, then the jeans, then the scarf, laying them across my lap and the bedspread. I touched each article of clothing, running my fingers across the splattered bloodstains. These perhaps should be burned too. I was surprised that they hadn’t been already. I didn’t think I would.

I shoved the clothes to the side and examined my phone. It, too, had been tampered with, but there were recent unplayed messages from a few hours ago. I set it to play all of the saved and unsaved messages and lay down on my bed, listening to the first few seconds of each one before deleting it.

Honey. “Kao-chan, Haruhi’s mad but I’m not I understand that you—”

Tamaki, surprisingly subdued. “Hi Kaoru, just wanted to say that we all miss you here, and if—” a tell-tale quiver.

Kyoya. “What you are doing is childish, Kaoru, but whenever you return to school the Host Club could use you back as either Hikaru or Kaoru—”

Haruhi. “Kaoru, I’m sorry I reacted so strongly. I know you’re going through a hard time.”

That was the entirety of the message. Delete.

That was the last of the new ones. Those idiots, didn’t they realize I needed them to treat me like Hikaru or my cover was blown? What if the police had heard these?

It started on saved messages, including weird American accents that called me by accident, a sales call, Haruhi telling me a homework assignment, and—

“Kaoru! Pick up, why don’t you! I swear, if you fell asleep, I’m going to kill you.”

I stopped breathing. Then I sat up with a jerk, snapped the phone shut, and threw it away from me. It bounced off the wall and landed unharmed.

My breathing came quick and fast. I forced it to slow down. I took deep, measured gulps. I placed my cold fingers over my eyes. I took ahold of myself before I let my fingers down and opened my eyes again. I retrieved my phone, turned it off, dumped it in the middle of the bloodstained clothes, wadded them into a ball, and shoved it in the corner of the bottom dresser drawer. I stared at the wad.

Couldn’t be too careful.

Something had cracked there. Something had nearly broken.

I couldn’t afford to let it break.

Without thinking, I withdrew a different article of clothing. It was Hikaru’s favorite blue tank top, the one he almost always wore when we weren’t being identical. I slid the drawer shut with my foot and climbed into bed. I put the top to my face, covering my nose and mouth like a medical mask, and breathed in. I turned over on my side in the too-large, too-empty bed, and curled into the fetal position, one hand tucked under my chin, the other pressing the material to my nose and mouth. I thought about several things. One, I had forgotten about dinner. Two, I hadn’t showered, brushed my teeth, or changed or undressed. Three, I hadn’t turned out the lamp. Four, I didn’t have the energy to do any of those things.

The fifth thought was much more invasive, and it made me curl up tighter and forced me to fight to keep breathing.

This would be my first time sleeping in this bed without Hikaru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I readily admit I don't know the first thing about Japanese culture (Wikipedia is the extent of my knowledge about Japanese funerals), so feel free to correct any details I may have marred, or compliment me on my vague-yet-accurate details. ;)


	7. The Cougar Pounces

My tutor came the next morning, meeting me in an empty study. He asked me lots of questions, confirming where I was in my courses, checking to see where I lined up with Ouran.

“You have been granted an extension, understandably,” he explained to me. “You can wait an extra week to take your exams, but you will need to have no contact with the other students during that time. Or you can take them on the normal schedule.”

I shrugged. “Normal.” I didn’t want to suffer through tutoring any longer than I had to.

“All right then,” the baby-faced tutor hunched down and peered at his laptop screen. “All right, we could work on foreign language first – you have some catching up to do with literature – you are right on top of your science and math, so we needn’t focus on those—”

“No,” I interrupted. “I need help with science and math.”

The tutor peered at me over the top of his laptop screen. “Are you sure? Your scores indicate—”

“My scores are wrong,” I said. My homework grades were only good because they were Hikaru’s.

“If you insist,” said the tutor doubtfully.

By the time he left he agreed with me on what I needed help with and what I didn’t, and he left with warnings about how difficult the next few weeks would be if I was to be prepared for the finals.

I only got halfway up the stairs before a breathless maid accosted me. “Sir, you have guests.”

“Huh?” I paused with one foot on one step and one on the other

“You have guests downstairs. They are waiting for you.” When I didn’t respond, she urged, “It’s – Tamaki Suoh, Kyoya Ootori, Mitskuni Haninozuka—”

“Ah.”

“Would you – “ she faltered. “Would you like me to tell them to leave, sir?”

“No, it’s all right.” I turned around and started back down the stairs, slowly, trying to decide if I dreaded seeing them or not. She hurried in front of me, opened the door and announced my name before stepping back and letting me in.

The Hosts turned in unison to look at me. The maid shut the door, and I confirmed with a quick glance around the room that we were alone. The silence quickly grew awkward.

“Hi,” I said at last.

“Hello,” Tamaki, Haruhi, and Kyoya said in unison.

“Hi,” said Mori.

“Hi, Kao-chan,” said Honey, with a brave smile.

“Hikaru,” I said quietly. When the silence became too much I ventured, “How’s…the club doing?”

“We’re doing very well,” said Tamaki. “Things could be – better – you know, but, well. The Spring Dance was a success. The girls were happy – er, could have been happier with – but – things are good.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Kyoya shot him a sideways glance.

“We would like to have you back—” Kyoya began.

“We’re very happy to see you,” Tamaki interrupted. “We’ve missed having you around.”

“Yeah, why weren’t you at school today?” Honey asked, his smile turning to a pout.

Mori put a hand on his shoulder as Tamaki whirled around and hissed in a loud whisper, “ _Honey-senpei!_ We are not here to question Kaoru about his personal life and feelings! We want to make him feel as comfortable as possible! Let _him_ ask the questions! Don’t mention anything _sensitive!_ ”

“Hikaru,” I said, loudly this time.

Dead silence fell.

“What about him?” Haruhi said.

“He’s me,” I said. “Here, I’m Hikaru.”

Tamaki hunched his shoulders and his gaze darted around the room. He crept towards me and hissed, “Are they listening?”

I raised my eyebrows. “No.”

“Then there’s no reason to pretend.” Haruhi set her mouth in a grim line. I just looked at her.

“Kao-chan!” Honey said quickly, and then he blushed and stuttered, “I mean, Hika—” he looked at Haruhi. “I mean, I thought we could—I—uh—”

Mori leaned down and said in his ear, “Cake.”

“Right!” Honey’s eyes lit up. He produced little cake boxes from his schoolbag and stoutly proclaimed, “I brought cake for us all, I thought we could eat them, together, here!”

“I don’t—” I began, but Honey raced around the room, shoving a box into each of our hands. Then he threw himself down at the little table and began to eat with a fierce determination.

I sat down where I was, and the others did too. I swiped my finger across the top of my cake and sucked the pink frosting from my finger.

“Yum! Isn’t it good?” Honey asked loudly.

“Yeah.” Said Mori.

_Poor little guy,_ Hikaru said. _Who knew eating cake could become such a treacherous diplomatic event?_

The silence filled with awkward smacking.

_Say,_ _why didn’t you plant a firecracker? We could’ve had it go off right about now. Can you imagine the Boss’s silhouette imprinted on the ceiling?_

I licked more frosting off my finger.

_Well, aren’t you the sexy beast?_

“Kao—Hik—do you like your cake?”

I glanced up. “I guess.”

Tamaki chuckled. “You were smiling at it.”

My smile faded. “Oh. Right.”

_Now look what you’ve done, Hikaru. They think I was smiling at the cake. Because, you know, smiling at your comments when you’re dead isn’t any more insane._

_Psh. Rude._

Now I was frowning at my cake. My appetite disappeared and I set it down.

“Will you be returning to school next week?” Kyoya asked. Tamaki whirled.

_“Kyoya!_ ”

“No,” I said. “I’m being tutored here. I’m grounded.”

Haruhi looked up.

“You’re…grounded?” Honey looked horrified.

“Security measures, I’m sure?” Kyoya said, but his question wasn’t one that demanded an answer. I shrugged.

“Yeah. Whatever. Something like that.”

“Are you behind?” Haruhi asked.

I shrugged again.

“Well, if you want help with anything – I’d be happy to give it—” I thought Haruhi was being like the maid, and she was being kind, but then she finished up her sentence with “—Kaoru.”

I stood up. “Hikaru.”

Her left eye twitched. “You are Kaoru and I’m not going to pretend any different.”

Tamaki leaned over and prodded her shoulder, and spoke in that perfectly audible stage-whisper. “Haruhi! We agreed to not criticize him, but to accept him—allow him to—grieve in his own way—support him—not make a fuss—”

“ _I_ didn’t agree.” Haruhi jumped up. “And this isn’t grieving. This is hiding. You all can sit here and pretend it’s all right, but I won’t. It’s wrong. It’s not helpful to Kaoru to cater to his delusions.”

My fingers curled up until my nails dug into my palm. “I’m not _deluded._ ” I forced out through the anger that started to tighten my throat.

“Yes you are!”

“You think—” My eyes felt hot and something inside of me snapped. “You think I don’t know he’s DEAD?” I shouted, accidentally. Honey fell over backwards.

“Oh, you know!” Haruhi yelled back. “You just don’t want to admit it! It’s not healthy for you, Kaoru, and it’s unfair to the rest of us and disrespectful of Hikaru!”

“Disre—” the word tangled in my throat and I choked. The rest of it came out in high-strung laughter, and it was followed by words that rushed out, faster and faster. I lost control. “You know, you’re the second person to tell me I’m disrespectful. Funny thing. Everybody knows how to respect Hikaru better than I do. My father, my mother, the media, you. You’d think it wasn’t _me_ that grew up with him, _me_ that went through everything with him, _me_ who always knew what he was thinking, _me_ who he always knew what I was thinking,” I was all but screaming. “ _Me_ that knows every nightmare he ever had, _me_ that told him every nightmare I ever had, _me_ who shared absolutely everything with him, _me_ that saw him run and scream and get shot and bleed out—” My voice creaked. I stopped short and stood stiff and quivering. They all stared at me, Haruhi included.

I swallowed. I turned my head, just to look away from them. When I found my voice it was as calm as Kyoya’s and twice as cold. “I think you should leave.”

“Kao-chan,” whispered Honey.

“Leave,” I said. “And I think you’d better stay away.” They just stood there. I went to the door. “I’ll have the maid show you out.”

*

A few days later I passed my father in the hallway. I kept my eyes straight ahead and quickened my pace as he came from the opposite side. We started to pass, but then his hand darted out and grabbed my forearm. The bruises were healed, but I reflexively flinched as I stopped walking.

“Well?” said my father. I felt his gaze on the side of my face but I looked forwards. “How are things?”

“Fine.”

“Any trouble?”

“No sir.”

He let me go.

*

I was lying on our bed listening to Hikaru’s music while I stared at the ceiling when the knock came. The music wasn’t as loud as the time before. I opened the door.

That maid was there. The kind one with the chocolate voice and the curved red mouth. She held a little plastic carrier filled with bottles and rags.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Uh,” I stepped back and let her inside. “Did you need something?”

“No sir.” She bent over in front of me and sorted through the container. I stared at her. She straightened her back and I jerked my gaze away. I went back to my place on the bed and turned up the music. After several minutes of trying to ignore her, I sat up, feet on the floor, leaning my elbows on my knees, and watching while she dusted the sound system. What was she doing here? Maids cleaned our room daily, of course – twice daily if necessary, but they never did it while we were actually present. It was always as if it cleaned itself by magic.

She put away the duster in her little box and got out a fluffy white rag. She moved closer to me, and for a moment I thought she would address me, but she didn’t. She stopped in front of my dresser and put a hand to her throat. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her uniform and pulled out a small bottle of dark liquid from in between her—

My heartrate stuttered and I scooted backwards. What in the world—

Her skirt brushed my knees as she poured some of the liquid onto the rag and attacked the dresser, polishing its already-shiny wood. Her uniform was the same uniform of all the maids, and it was an attractive style—after all, they worked for a famous fashion designer—but I got the sense that my mother had designed it specifically for whatever bodytype this maid had.

“Enjoying the view?” I could only just hear her voice above the pounding music, soft and smooth. She looked sideways at me with a sly smile. I didn’t answer. I didn’t blush or look away either. She put down the cloth and polisher and turned. The buttons were still undone, revealing more skin than was ever intended for this uniform. It didn’t help that, as she leaned over, her bodice was at my eye level. I looked pointedly away from it, up into her face. She lifted her hand and her fingers brushed the hairs on my forehead. She hooked her fingers around the headphones and slowly pulled them backwards and down, off of my ears, until they hugged my neck. She smoothed my hair with her palm, drew one finger down my jaw. Then she dipped her head and set her lips on mine.

I made a startled noise in my throat. I felt that sly smile come back, against my mouth.

Before this moment, the only person I had ever kissed was Hikaru.

We kissed the girls, sometimes. Strictly cheeks, the nape of a jaw if we were feeling daring. It was always part of our “Two Loves Are Better Than One” bit, unless it was part of our “Jealous Lovers” bit.

Our customers tended to be more…physically inclined. So of course every intimate moment in Music Room #3 between Hikaru and I was charged with unresolved sexual tension. And occasionally, very rarely, we let that tension reach a conclusion. But then it was always at just the right time, at just the right angle to prevent the girls from seeing if our lips actually met or not. It drove them crazy and was immensely fun.

It was an act, of course, and the only reason Hikaru and I were comfortable doing it was the same reason we were comfortable doing everything else – the touches, the glances, the suggestive incestuous undertones. Things most pairs of brothers wouldn’t do. Because we trusted each other. Completely. Hell, we had continued to bathe together much longer than either of us would ever admit to an outsider. We didn’t keep it secret because we were ashamed or embarrassed, but because the erupting scandal would be immensely irritating – not to mention our father may very well have killed us.

Outside of Music Room #3, I could count on a single hand the times our lips had met. There was nothing erotic about it. They were kisses born of necessity. Of total trust in the other person. Of complete, absolute vulnerability.

Hikaru and I had both had our share of dark moments. These were moments that no one knew about but us. We would never breathe a word of them to anyone. Not even anyone in the Host Club knew about them. And it was in these moments that our regular gestures were not enough – not the embraces, not the touching of hands, not the sleeping in the same bed. The kisses were not erotic. They were a poignant reminder; a physical expression of how deeply we were entwined. When one of us could no longer see the light, the other leaned in, and in that moment we would pull one another from the brink.

The physical act did what words could not.

_I’m here, forever and always, you are not alone, we will make it through together._

Maybe it was wrong. It sure as hell wasn’t healthy. But neither of us cared. I still didn’t care.

I would do anything to have Hikaru here now.

_You’re pathetic, Kaoru, you know that?_   Hikaru said.

True. My mind returned to the present. Here I was, sitting on my bed, being kissed by a beautiful woman, and all I could think about was Hikaru.

The way she was kissing me was different. It was warm, it was active, her lips were moving, her hand snaked up the nape of my neck into my hair, her other pressed against my chest, moved slowly to my shoulder, and back. It was erotic.

I knew perfectly well that she was taking advantage of me. I was seventeen, three years away from being a legal adult. At the very youngest this maid was nearing thirty. Forget fifty-year-old flirtatious Canadian women; this was the very definition of Cougar.

I couldn’t dig up enough energy to really care, though. I didn’t care that she was kissing me.

But that meant I didn’t care if she continued.

_Oh, screw it,_ I thought, and I kissed her back.

A few seconds later she stopped. She moved her mouth to my ear, murmured, “There it is,” kissed me underneath my earlobe, and then she picked up her box of things and left.

When I stood up some time later to use the bathroom, I looked in the mirror and saw her lip stick smeared across my mouth. I grabbed a tissue and scrubbed it off. Hikaru was silent.


	8. Call Me Hikaru

Haruhi called me the next day, on Hikaru’s phone. (Mine was still shoved in the drawer.)

I debated not answering it, but I was curious, so I answered. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Haruhi sounded tired. “I just wanted to – call and – I don’t like what you’re doing, but we’re still friends, right?”

I leaned back and shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “That’s up to you.”

A silence.

“Listen, Kaoru—”

“Hikaru,” I corrected her.

She sighed.

“I’m Hikaru.” I said a little louder, glancing at the ceiling.

“Kaoru—”

I stood up. “ _Call me Hikaru!_ ” My voice came out a lot louder, and a lot angrier than I meant it to. My heart rate skyrocketed and my cheeks flushed. A pregnant silence came from the other side of the phone. I waited for an apology, an acknowledgement, a simple continuation of the conversation—

The dial tone exploded in my ear. My eyes widened, and then narrowed. She’d hung up on me. I glared at the screen, violently pressed the end button, and flung the phone onto our bed. Well _fine_ , if she didn’t want to talk to me. How selfish could she be? Didn’t she realize I was alone here?

And with that thought my stomach plummeted. I wish I hadn’t thought it.

I was lonely.

I had never been lonely before.

For the first time in my life, I was despairingly, suffocatingly, utterly alone.

There were lots of pillows on the bed. I took HIkaru’s shirt out of the dresser. Then I lay down, not carrying that it was the middle of the afternoon. I buried my face in the material and hugged the pillows as hard as I could.

It didn’t make any difference. I started shivering and I couldn’t stop for a long while.

*

I went straight to our room after a day of tutoring and the maid was in it again, fluffing the pillows on the bed. I stopped at the sight of her, the physics textbook under my arm. She peeked at me from under her eyelashes.

“Hello.”

I turned on my heel. “I’ll come back later—”

She grabbed my elbow. “If you leave right now, I’ll be upset.”

I gulped, tried to say something, and all that came out was a squeak.

Her fingers left my elbow and traced a path up to my shoulder. Gripping it lightly she moved in front of me. With a little frown of concentration she fingered my shirt collar, pressing it into place and sharpening the creases with pinches. I stared over her shoulder, mind and heart racing.

_What do I do?_

Hikaru was silent.

_Where’s your dead brother’s ghost when you need him?_

“You’re blushing,” she murmured.

I pulled back as my face flushed. “No I’m not.”

She followed my retreat until I bumped into our bed, unexpectedly hard. I rocked back on my feet and her hand shot out, catching my shoulder and steadying me. My feet found firm ground and she was too close again. She released her grip and traced her fingers across my shoulder, lightly and slowly making their way up my neck. Chills went down my back and my skin tingled. She stopped her fingers at my jawline and I could barely feel them resting there. Her gaze went to my mouth.

I felt a spurt of panic, mixed with excitement and confusion.

_She’s going to kiss me again._

She did, and my breath hitched and my eyes started to close but her hand left my skin and she turned, gathered her supplies, and exited. My knees buckled and I sank onto the bed, and then collapsed back into it.

 _Huh_ , Hikaru mused.

*

I don’t know if she was doing it on purpose, but I suddenly saw her everywhere. I glimpsed her in the halls, in the dining room, flitting around corners, never making eye contact. I found myself staring at her, waiting to see if she’d look back, bewildered when she didn’t. And then sometimes I thought I felt her looking at me. I could never catch her in the act, but often I thought I could see a twitch of that sly smile.

My loneliness got worse. I studied for long hours, I tried to sleep for long hours, I paced our room, I paced the halls (avoiding the corridors most often traversed by my parents, when they were present, which was rare). I even ventured outside, but guards dogged my footsteps and I couldn’t leave the grounds. I received an invitation in the mail for Tamaki and Kyoya’s graduation ceremony/party. I threw it away.

I started living in Hikaru’s blue tank, wearing it underneath my other clothes, rarely letting it out of my sight to wash. It made the solid ache that seemed to have permanently rooted in the pit of my stomach feel – not less painful, but somehow more bearable. I did my eardrums some further permanent damage by spending hours listening to Hikaru’s music while I paced.

I wanted to see the host club, and at the same time I didn’t. They were the only ones besides the maid who would be kind to me, but they would be idiotic about it. Besides, I didn’t hear from them. Perhaps they tried to contact me; I didn’t know. My phone remained in my drawer. Kyoya and Honey would call my/Hikaru’s phone, and I would listen to their messages with a disgusted eagerness before deleting them. I didn’t check my email. The outside world tantalized, taunted, and repulsed me.

Finally, on what had become my standard schedule, I returned to our room and the maid was in there cleaning again. I stood in the doorway, arms loose at my sides and watched her, wondering if what I thought was coming was coming. She ignored me for a good three minutes, dusting off appliances, slowly working her way in my direction. She stopped in front of me, twirling the duster in her hand, finally looking into my eyes. I looked back, jaw set. Then the duster fell, she pulled me into the room by the front of my jacket, and the door shut.

I was against the wall and she was kissing me again, but differently yet again; fierce and hungry. I had no idea what to do, so I made it up. I dropped my physics textbook at some point. The panicky side of me took control of my mind for a moment when she somehow removed my jacket without me noticing; I only became aware of it when she dropped it on the floor.

_What am I doing?_

_Yeah, Kaoru,_ Hikaru sounded slightly alarmed. _What are you doing?_

She must have felt my hesitation, because she stopped for a moment, forehead resting against mine, and then she started again, changing tactics. She moved her mouth across my face, over the bridge of my nose, then hesitated with her breath hitting my lips. I felt the blood rushing in my ears. I didn’t open my eyes, afraid of what I’d see. Then she kissed me again, softly, and then her tongue flicked out. I shivered. I felt her smile. Then, as abrupt as ever, she released me and stepped back, picked up her things, and exited.

The old, familiar knot of pain returned to my stomach. Sweat coated my palms and made my shirt cling to me.

 _Kaoru,_ said Hikaru. He sounded sad.

 _I don’t know, and I don’t care,_ I answered back, going into the bathroom to wash her lipstick off my face.

*

After that, it was like we had both made up our minds. We never spoke to each other after that. Our sessions happened at increasing intervals, at varying times, and never lasted more than five minutes. I didn’t ask her name; that would make it too real. I started checking my room obsessively, as her timing was unpredictable. I even made excuses to leave my tutor and retrieve various items from my room. Hikaru sulked in a corner in my head. He didn’t approve, but also didn’t voice any protest except to make occasional coy comments.

_How long until she starts asking for expensive chocolates and jewelry, I wonder?_

_Hmmm, look at that, she’s changed her lipstick color. Does it taste different?_

_Gee, she’s left her top button undone again. It’s either sexy, or desperate. I can’t decide. What do you think, Kaoru?_

All I thought is that with her to look forward to, I could forget about the lonely ache and the maddening boredom.

Our sessions escalated. Four days before exams, we were actually on the bed. I had been getting more aggressive (each time I took charge I was rewarded with that smile), but she was still in charge, ultimately, and now she was above me, dress coming off her shoulder, hair falling on either side of her face. My shirt lay on the floor, and the bedcover stuck to my bare back. She leaned down, breaking our silence rule with a whisper in my ear.

“What do you think?” Her hands were cool against my burning skin. “Do we go on?” I heard the rustle of paper, and she overturned one of my hands and pressed crumpled paper into my palm.

“I’ve a few days leave,” she murmured. “You can find me first day of your vacation. Come round the back way and I’ll let you in.”

The bed lifted, relieved of her weight. I opened my eyes, disbelieving, and watched her pull her sleeve back up, button her blouse, smooth her hair, and leave without looking at me.

For the first time, I felt extremely, extraordinarily annoyed with her – to put it lightly.

 _Oh, come on,_ said Hikaru. _You can’t exactly do it in here, can you? Anybody could walk in, or hear you. You’re loud enough as it is._

_Shut up, no we’re not._

_You’re in no position to be upset with me._ Hikaru actually sounded angry. _You’re the one getting it on with a thirty-year-old._

_Shut up. I don’t need approval from the voices in my head._

Hikaru retreated to sulk in his metaphorical corner. I sat up, slowly, as my heart rate steadied and looked at the paper, studying the address scrawled on it.

Someone knocked on the door and I jumped like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

_Cute metaphor. Can’t wait to get your hands on those cookies, can you?_

_Shut up Hikaru!_

I squeezed my knees together as the door opened and a harried maid poked her head in. She went beet-red at the sight of me. “I’m so terribly sorry to disturb you, sir, but Suoh Tamaki is here and—”

“Tell him to go away,” I interrupted.

“I’m sorry, I tried to make him wait, but he’s—”

A blond head poked in above hers. “Hello!” Tamaki said, overly-cheerful. “Sorry to burst in on you like this.”

“Is that so?” I bent over and retrieved my shirt, shrugging it back over my shoulders. “You can leave then.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” He was still smiling brightly, but had a determination in his voice that I recognized as one I couldn’t win over right away. I sighed.

“Fine then.” And to the maid, “You can leave.”

“Shall I bring something up, sir, for Master Suoh?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tamaki said with a little flourishing bow. “But thank you for your thoughtfulness, lovely lady.”

She blushed, smiling idiotically as she stumbled through a curtsy and left us. Tamaki turned around and studied me as I finished buttoning my shirt and running my fingers through my hair. If he noticed anything amiss, he didn’t say so.

“Well? What do you want?” I muttered.

“I have something to say,” said Tamaki. “And I’m afraid you won’t like it.”

I grunted.

“So you’ve had a few weeks now,” Tamaki continued. “And we’re all – well, I’m concerned, really. About how long you’re going to keep this up.”

I said nothing, turning my collar down and crossing my legs. He wanted a conversation, so he’d have to carry it.  Tamaki continued to study me, not looking at all uncomfortable. “How long are you planning to pretend to be Hikaru?”

“What’s it to you?” I grumbled. “I thought you thought that you should all leave me to grieve however I wanted.”

“Oh, I did,” said Tamaki. “And I do. And Haruhi was wrong to upset you like she did. But,” He paused long enough to cross the room and sit next to me, leaning back on his hands and looking at the ceiling. “I wondered, have you considered what Hikaru would want you to do?”

Angry blood rushed to my face and I stood up. “I suppose you think you know what Hikaru would want me to do,” I snapped.

“No, of course not,” said Tamaki mildly. “I didn’t know Hikaru like you did, so obviously you would have a much better idea. I just wondered if you had thought about it, that’s all.”

“Well I don’t—“ I hesitated. “That is, he wouldn’t – mind.”

“Mmm,” Tamaki squinted at the ceiling. “Would it be the same if your situations were reversed? Would you care if Hikaru pretended to be you?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. I hadn’t thought about it before. “No,” I said at last, trying to imagine Hikaru wanting to pretend to be me and failing.

“Would you be upset if he isolated himself from his friends?”

“Not if his friends were acting like idiots.”

Tamaki gave a low chuckle and I glared at him. “I suppose we are all rather idiotic, except for maybe Haruhi.”

“Especially Haruhi,” I muttered.

Tamaki continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “You know we’re all here for you, right? If you want or need anything, you need only say so.”

I didn’t answer Tamaki, as I was suddenly distracted by the uncomfortable thought that if our situations were reversed and the maid was hitting on Hikaru, and Hikaru was letting her, I’d want to go to the police. Or a psychologist, if Hikaru and I hadn’t decided long ago that all psychologists were nutters.

Tamaki covered my hand with his and I jumped, pulling back. His large, liquid eyes practically gushed concern. “If you need to talk, I’ll listen,” he said. “I can be good at listening, you know. And…it’s okay to cry.”

I frowned. “I’m not crying.”

“Well, maybe you should. Have you?”

“Have I _what_?” I snapped, even though I knew what he was asking.

“Have you cried about Hikaru?”

I thought about my hysteria in the getaway van. I thought about nights of hyperventilation, of senseless pacing, of drowning out all thoughts and feelings with Hikaru’s music. “Not exactly.”

Tamaki nodded and cocked his head. He looked away. “You know, it’s funny. I cried all the time after my mother disappeared, but I was angry with myself every time it happened.” I rubbed the back of my neck and looked at the ground. I’d never heard Tamaki talk about his mother before. “I don’t know why. I suppose it just reminded me of how unfair the world was. The strangest things started happening to me too. I couldn’t focus on anything; everything I saw reminded me of her. I was always thinking about what her reactions would be to the things happening to me. I knew exactly how she would respond in certain situations, the sort of advice she would give me. I could almost have conversations with her.” I shot Tamaki a glance, my hands tightening on my knees. I bit my tongue. Tamaki let out a soft laugh. “Strange, huh?”

“Not so strange,” I whispered.

Tamaki changed topics. “Have you been to the grave site?”

I scowled. “Of course I have.”

“I don’t mean with all of the world watching,” said Tamaki, voice tight. I didn’t answer. He sighed. “I’ve been thinking I would like to pay my respects, do you—”

“I’m not going with you,” I interrupted.

Tamaki shrugged, standing. “All right. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll let myself out now.”

I jumped up as he treated. “Wait – senpei?”

He turned with a badly-hidden smile. “Yes?”

 I chewed the inside of my lower lip. “I – uh, I…lost…an invitation we got for your graduation party. Do you think you could, um…” I gestured.

The smug smile turned into one of delight. “I’d love to send you another, if you’d like to come.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course we’d like to, Boss.” Tamaki’s smile faltered and I wilted, my shoulders slumping as blood rushed to my face. I hid my face with one hand and mumbled, “Sorry, I mean…”

“I know,” said Tamaki gently. “Don’t apologize. I’ll see you in a week or two, all right?”

He left and I dropped to the floor, resting my head in my hands, furious. Furious at the unjust sorrow a simple little word could bring. Furious that I was forced to edit “we” from my vocabulary while the rest of the world merrily carried along, not realizing how painful a simple change in pronouns could be.

I pulled up my legs and rested my chin on my knees, thinking. The sunlight that squeezed through the small gaps in the heavily curtained windows made patterns on the floor. There were a few hours of daylight left. I couldn’t get Tamaki’s words out of my head.

_Hikaru?_

_Hm?_

_I think I’ll come by. Just briefly. Just to see the site, like Tamaki said. In an hour or so._

_I’ll be there._

My breath left me and I seized, heart pounding in my ears and making my chest ache. I never really believed in ghosts, not really, but in that moment I forgot. With anticipation making my limbs tremble and my voice shake, I sought out one of my many prison-keepers—I mean, bodyguards—and gained their permission to visit the gravesite, with them behind keeping a safe distance away. I then had to go to the kitchen to get an appropriate offering. I then went back upstairs and changed out of Hikaru’s clothing into some of my own (no one but myself and possibly host club members would know the difference). Then, holding my breath and trying not to think about it, I got a plastic bag and put in my bloodstained clothes and Hikaru’s blue tank. Then I grabbed his headphones, both of our cell phones, and went out to the waiting car.

The bodyguards waited at the gate and I went on alone to the memorial. Heavy, stifling, respectful silence blanked the area and I stole up to the site, trying to make no noise, my blood rushing in my ears and my heart pounding. I stood in front for a moment, looking at the stone with my name on it and Hikaru’s ashes under it.

 _Fitting, huh?_ I thought. _Can’t tell us apart in death any more than they ever could in life._

I looked around the area, waiting for – I didn’t know what. A sight, a sound, a comment from Hikaru. But his ghost stayed silent. So I sat down, cross-legged to wait. I laid out the offering, hung the headphones around my neck, and got out the clothes. I set them in my lap, ran my fingers over them, feeling more quiet and calm than I had for weeks.

Just waiting.

Waiting.

He’d said he’d be here. Hikaru was coming, in some form. I just needed to wait.

The sun sank and the corners of the sky began to change color. There was no breeze. The air grew slightly cooler.

I waited.

I fell half-asleep, sitting with my chin propped in my hand, staring at the engravings in the stone, my backside getting numb. I fingered the clothes. I looked down at our two phones, sitting side by side. They captivated me, suddenly, just sitting there together. They were together when we were not.

Then Hikaru arrived.

_Kaoru._

I sat up straighter. I looked at the grave, but then something drew my gaze back down to the phones. But not just both of the phones. The orange one. Mine.

_Kaoru, open it._

It had been a long time since anyone had called me Kaoru. Even Hikaru’s ghost didn’t ever address me by name. Fear trickled through me. I wanted to protest, but at the same time, sitting there in front of Hikaru’s grave, with the oppressive air and the deafening silence, I couldn’t.

_Open it, Kaoru._

Without feeling like I was in control of my own hand, I reached down and picked up my phone. I opened it, I pressed start, I waited for it to load.

 _What now?_ I asked silently as the screen blinked to life. There were new messages again. I clicked through them without looking, without caring, listening for Hikaru’s next instructions. They didn’t come, but I froze again with one of the voicemails highlighted, aware of what it was, terrified of telling it to play. I closed my eyes.

_No. I don’t want to. I don’t need to. Not this, Hikaru._

Several long seconds of silence. I felt a bit of relief. Hikaru had relented. Then—

_Kaoru._

I flinched, put the phone to my ear, and pushed play.

“Kaoru! Pick up, why don’t you! I swear, if you fell asleep, I’m going to kill you.”

I held my breath and sat rigid.

“I only have time to say this once. Follow these instructions very carefully. Change into those blue jeans we both like, the tan short-sleeve, the black designer jacket, and wear that brown-grey-white striped scarf.”

The clothes felt hot and heavy in my lap. The message played through. I struggled to breathe.

_Hikaru?_

I pleaded, waiting for him to speak to me again. He didn’t. The silence became threatening. I pushed play again. And again.

“Grab your wallet—”

I needed his voice.

Again.

“Leave your watch—”

Again.

_Hikaru._

“A big security guard will meet you there—”

_Please._

“I’ll meet you outside.”

_I can’t do this, Hikaru._

“Kaoru! Pick up, why don’t you! I swear, if you fell asleep, I’m going to kill you.”

_I can’t._

The heat of the clothes spread to the rest of me and moisture leaked out. I shook, sweating and blushing and breathing in stuttering rhythms. I got sharp chills; little pinpricks ran up my back, neck and face and reached my eyelids.

The message stopped again. I opened my eyes but the world blurred.

_Hikaru?_

But Hikaru was silent.

“Hik—” I started to whisper and I choked on his name. I hiccupped, my throat throbbed, and then I couldn’t see anything at all as I let out something between a moan and a scream and I slumped over, hit my head, saw stars, and didn’t care. Pure panic set in and for the first time I felt the gaping emptiness around me in the graveyard, surrounded by dead stone and dead ashes. Inside, the emptiness grew – half of a mind, half of a consciousness, half of a heart – the other half had gone silent. The other half was no longer speaking. The other half had stopped whispering to me.

The cell phone slid out of my hand and I scrabbled on the ground. I punched in a number, blindly, only partially aware of who I was calling as I rocked on my knees, clutching Hikaru’s shirt and sobbing so hard that my lungs hurt.

“Hello?” The voice let out a small gasp and became much more urgent. “ _Hello_?”

I held the phone in front of my mouth like a walkie-talkie from Star Trek, only barely hearing the voice squawking from the speakers, and I stammered and slurred my words together until they were indecipherable.

“What is—” Realization dawned in the voice. “…Kaoru?”

Hearing my name somehow helped me snap my voice into focus, in between my gasping and rocking and shaking and tears. “He’s dead. Haruhi, he’s gone, he’s left me. Hikaru’s _gone_.”

Her voice became urgent and strangely business-like. “Where are you?”

I mumbled out the address.

“I’m coming. Stay there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may sound like this is beginning to come to an end. All I can say in answer to that is, you ain't seen nothin' yet.


	9. Yes Sir, No Sir

After such explosive emotional turmoil and resolution, you might not expect something as simple as a list to be the result. But a list is what I made the following morning, with rain pattering down and occasional drops soaring through my open window.

I intentionally called it my window. I knew Hikaru wouldn’t have minded. At first, laying there, the list was mental. But I decided to write it down.

  1. _Pass exams_
  2. _Tell maid it’s over_
  3. _Get maid fired if necessary_
  4. _Go to graduation party_
  5. _Pay attention to business world_



Hikaru wasn’t talking to me anymore, but I still felt prodded to add the next two, for his sake.

  1. _Do something fun_
  2. _Stop being a selfish butthole and re-make friends with everybody_



Of all the things on the list, the fifth looked simultaneously to be the least intimidating and the most doable. So I ate breakfast in one of our sitting rooms while I Googled the Hitachiin corporation reports. (Sure, it was the coward’s way out. But to be fair, I didn’t even know if my parents were in the country. I hadn’t seen them for two or three days.) I was struggling to understand the numbers, nose all but pressed to the laptop screen, my head aching, when my cell phone rang. (My cellphone, not Hikaru’s. Hikaru’s was up in my dresser drawer. My dresser.)

I looked away from the screen with relief. “Hello?”

“Hi, Kaoru,” came Haruhi’s voice. “I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing since last night.”

“Better,” I said, glancing around the room to ensure no servants had entered without me noticing. “Really. I’m—good.”

Haruhi’s sigh had a smile in it. “Good.”

I leaned back and put my feet up. “I’m sorry. About the way I’ve been acting.”

“It’s all right—”

“No,” I shook my head. “It isn’t. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own selfish, crazy little drama I haven’t even thought—I didn’t ask—are you okay?”

Haruhi sighed again, and it was a little less happy. “I’m coping. This is the second time I’ve lost someone really close to me, and it’s…it’s not completely new. This process. My dad’s been great. So has everyone else. It’s helpful, knowing that—even when you can’t feel it—there are other people out there. And even though they’ll never be replaced—” She stopped, and I pictured her holding the phone away from her face. After a moment her voice came back. “I miss him.”

I closed my eyes. “Me too.”

The words hung in the air. There it was again, that open admission. The painful truth letting go and floating into the air where it was felt more poignantly, but didn’t hurt quite so much. We didn’t speak for a long time, and I just listened to her breathe.

I sat up, forcing a pained smile through my teeth. “You know, sometimes I can’t decide if I’d rather stare into mirrors all day or break them!”

There was a long confused silence. “Uh, Kaoru, was that—a joke?”

I squinted. “Kind of?”

“Oh. Well then in that case, I can’t decide if I love your face or hate it.”

It really wasn’t funny—honestly, it was pretty morbid—but we both laughed anyway. I think we just needed to laugh.

“We’re so lame,” I groaned.

“Hikaru’d be ashamed of us,” Haruhi agreed. Then she abruptly changed the subject. “Have you taken exams yet?”

“They’re next week,” I said. “I’ll probably have to repeat a grade. My dad will blow a fuse.”

“You guys both said that every year,” said Haruhi. “You’ll do fine. How is your dad? Your mom?”

I grimaced. “Same old. I’m not sure where they are right now.” I glanced at the computer screen. “Apparently our stocks have fallen in value significantly. Though I don’t know what that actually means. It’s probably not the first dry spell we’ve had, right?”

“I’m sure it’s not,” said Haruhi. “Wait, are you actually reading about your family business?”

“I’m amazed at you,” I said haughtily. “I’m the heir, of course I’m reading about my family business. I know loads now. You’d be impressed with all I’ve learned in thirty minutes of surfing the internet. Did you know that the fantastically fabulous Mr. Domenic Grennich has yet another opinion about us?”

“I don’t know who that is—” Haruhi began.

I broke character to hastily explain, “He’s a rival and hates us but we’ve been trying to merge recently,” and then continued in a dramatic, throaty, TV-announcer reading: “ ‘The Hitachiin Corporation, while impressive in its ability to generate funds and increase output, has not shown that it can separate personal tragedies from business transactions. Our professional correspondence has fallen to pieces. If they wish to not sink themselves entirely, they must show the world that they are still competitive. Until such a time, we refuse to continue negotiations.” I frowned at the caption beneath Grennich’s sour face. “And wouldn’t you know it, _his_ value has _increased_. God, I’d love to smash his smug face through some plaster.”

Haruhi chuckled. “Glad to hear you’re up and kicking.”

A maid poked her head into the room. “Master Hikaru, your tutor has arrived.”

“I have to go,” I told Haruhi. “Exam studies are calling my name.”

“Same here,” said Haruhi. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And thus ended what felt like my first normal conversation in weeks.

*

Exams came and passed. The last day, relieved, I went up to my bedroom door and spent several minutes outside pumping myself up to be cool and professional and firm.

 _Rule 1,_ I coached myself. _She does not touch me._

I took a deep breath, jogged in place, then straightened my collar, held my chin up, and flung the door open.

“You can’t come here anymore—” The words left my mouth before I realized the room was empty. I turned a full circle. She wasn’t there. Relief mixed with disappointment and anticipation swept through me. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Damn it.” Right, she was on vacation. “Damn it,” I said again. She would be expecting me after exams were over. At her apartment. My gaze went to the bottom drawer of the dresser where I had hidden the scrap of paper with her address. _Damn_ it.

“Master Hitachiin,”

I started and whirled. A bodyguard had materialized in the doorway without my noticing.

“Lord Hitachiin wishes to speak with you.”

  _What for_? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t bother. I hadn’t been doing anything wrong, unless you counted near-fornication with cougars, but I highly doubted anybody knew about that.

Right?

He was still standing there.

“Okay, I’m coming,” I said, setting my books down. He didn’t move until I faced him again, then he stood back and held out an arm. Oh, great. I had an escort. I shook off my irritation as best I could and walked out. He fell into place behind me like a black, hulking thundercloud. I chewed the inside of my lip. If this wasn’t about the maid, what would it be about? Just a casual chat? Final exams? It was probably for the best. I could ask him questions about the Grennich drama. 

I entered the study and stood, startled, for a moment. Mother was here too, sitting one of her elegant pant suits scrolling on her phone.

“Hikaru,” my father looked up from his massive, dark, desk. It had an asymmetrical shape, with voluptuous curves and cleverly mirrored, slender legs that made it look like it was floating it midair. “How are your studies?”

“Fine,” I said. I looked at my mother, and felt a spark of anger. She hadn’t looked at me. “What are you doing?” I asked, more loudly than was necessary.

My mother blinked and glanced up with a surprised expression. She looked back down without answering.

“I called you, Hikaru, I’ll ask the questions,” my father admonished. He pushed a piece of paper across the wide expanse of his desk.

“Why?” I interrupted.

“Don’t interrupt—”

“What if I have questions too?” I interrupted again. Good lord, what had possessed me? I actually sounded…cocky. I felt my face scowling, but inside I was fighting between cocking my head in confusion and smirking.

My father frowned. He leaned his arm on the desk, flipping a pen through his fingers. He jerked his head. “Sign this.”

I stepped up to the desk. “What is it?”

“Press release.” He held out the pen, turning his attention to one of the massive desktop computer screens.

I took the, heavy, high-quality pen, but I didn’t sign. I leaned over and started reading instead.

**HITACHIIN CORPORATION**

**PRESS RELEASE**

**FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE**

**HITACHIIN CORPORATION PROTÉGÉ HIKARU HITACHIIN OUTLINES NEW BUSINESS MODEL FOR**

My father’s hand slapped down over the page.

I looked up. “What, I’m not allowed to read it?”

“Reading it is irrelevant; you’re signing it. You can read it later.” Even though I was standing and my father was sitting, he managed to loom over me as he sat straight in his chair and glared at me.

“But I’m the one who’s supposedly saying it,” I glanced down again, reading a few more words in between his fingers. The smirk won out. I almost laughed. “I’m not a ‘prodigy.’ What kind of bullcrap is this supposed to be?”

My father got that about-to-blow-a-fuse look, and my heartrate quickened. I leaned back.

“It’s PR, Hikaru,” my mother’s voice flowed over both of us like a serene, emotionless stream. I glanced her way. She didn’t look up, her fingers still swiping the screen. “Our value is plummeting, and we need our charismatic protégé to pull us back up. When exams are over, you won’t be able to hide behind the excuse of school anymore. You’ll have to make some public appearances and restore investors’ confidence in our value.”

I frowned. “Grennich is really giving us that much trouble?”

My father moved his hand and started click-clacking on the keyboard, once again looking calm and confident. “Grennich is only a small part, but yes.” Another possession. Was my father actually going to _explain_ something to me? Without sounding condescending? “We are actually quite fortunate to still have you. We have been shaken, and quite frankly getting you to behave can be a bitch, but at least our heir is familiar face—figuratively speaking, of course—and we don’t have to start from scratch.”

I sucked in my breath. Chills shot down my back as though I had been doused with cold water. His fingers stopped. He glanced at me. “What?” I whispered. “Is that it?” I felt, more than saw, my mother finally look at me. I took a step backwards.

“Is what it?” my father asked quietly.

“’You are quite fortunate to still have me’?” I quoted. “Me instead of—” I stopped and exhaled loudly. I turned and ran my fingers through my hair. The chills reversed themselves. “Is that really all he was? _Collateral?_ An _investment_?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

I only half-heard him. “I mean, we always knew it. That’s why Auntie kept talking about how you should’ve aborted one of us,” I pointed at my mother. Her expression didn’t change. “ _We_ always knew we were just a brand name. But you actually _admit_ it?”

“That isn’t what he said,” said my mother, quietly.

“That’s _exactly_ what he said!” I shouted.

“We can argue semantics later,” my father growled. “Sign the release.”

I stalked up to the desk, so close my thighs touched its floating edge. I looked him in the eye. I flung the heavy pen down as hard as I could and a loud _crack_ as it contacted the desk and shot off to the side. “No.”

My father’s eyes burned. “Hikaru.”

“Oh, excuse me. No _sir._ ” I kept talking. I didn’t know where this boldness was coming from, but it felt _wonderful_. And it was mine. No dead Hikaru’s ghost to help me out. I was standing on my own feet. “Thank god the younger colt was killed. No need to launch an investigation then, right? Too messy, too expensive, too much publicity. The older colt already caused enough trouble—flipping the press off, actually having the nerve to grieve the other mudrat. It must have nearly ruined the harpy’s crocodile tears.” I jerked a thumb at my mother. “But at least there’s no paperwork to fill out. God, wouldn’t that be inconvenient, remaking the will and everything? Rebuilding the image? Frustrating, isn’t it? We’re mirror-images, we’re the exact same, but the public doesn’t know that ‘cause we’ve got inconveniently different first names. God, how _annoying_ that would be.”

My father stood up. I didn’t move. “What’s the matter?” I taunted. “Are you gonna hit me too?”

He reached out a hand. He grabbed my collar. He pulled me close to his face, forcing me to lean over the wide desk. “Hikaru.”

I looked him in the eyes. A swell of power burst from my chest outwards. I felt it in my fingers, I felt it in my toes, I felt it in my soul.

_I know something you don’t._

_I know something that could ruin us._

I enjoyed that feeling. I debated for nanoseconds if I should give up the slightest increment of that power right here, right now.

I looked my father in the eyes. “I’m not Hikaru.”

His eyes narrowed in anger. “Don’t—” he started, then stopped. He studied me. I could see my face reflected in his glasses. Serene, satisfied, with a slight smile, and absolute honesty. Without looking away, he ordered the guard, “Step out.”

The door clicked softly. He let me go and I straightened.

“Don’t be absurd, Hikaru,” my mother said.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m not Hikaru.”

“This is not the time to have a mental breakdown,” my father said, dangerously quiet.

“I’m not,” I repeated. “Sir. I am perfectly sane. I’m more sane than I have been. It’s true. I’m not Hikaru.”

“Oh, really?” I wondered if he was going to spit at me, because it sure looked like it. “And who are you, then?”

I raised my chin, pulled back my shoulders, and clasped my hands behind my back. “I’m Kaoru.”

“That isn’t funny, Hikaru,” my mother snapped.

“I’m not laughing.”

“Hikaru,” my father slowly came around the desk. “Think very, very carefully about this. This is serious. Extremely serious. If even the slightest hint of a rumor got started—”

“Rumor?” I interrupted not in sassiness this time, but in genuine surprise. “You don’t believe me?” I looked between them. “You don’t believe me. You really don’t believe me. I…honestly didn’t expect that.” I took a step back, then another, until my legs found a chair and I sat down. “Well then. I guess I have to write a press release of my own.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” my father hissed. “Did you not hear me?”

“I won’t be spreading a rumor,” I said. “I’ll be telling the truth. Hikaru died that day. He jumped in front of the bullet. He saved me. I borrowed his identity.”

“How dare you?” His fingers flexed. I glanced at them, and mentally prepared myself for the possibility of being struck.

“You can’t stop me,” I said. “Short of locking me up in a room with no electronics and no contact with the outside world – and good luck trying to explain _that_ to the press.”

His face color was changing again. But this time, instead of getting red, it was slowly getting white. “If you try to bring us down,” he forced out. “I will ensure you are brought down, hard, to a youth correctional facility, with years spent in rehabilitation, so many years so that when you emerge no one will remember who you were or where you came from and with a record so blackened _nobody_ will want to take you on.”

I felt a chill in my soul. He was actually threatening me. His own son. And he would do it, too. I wasn’t scared of those consequences; they would be bad, yes, I would probably be miserable. But I was currently miserable, so what the hell? “Okay,” I said.

A long silence. The phone was finally sitting facedown in my mother’s lap.

“What do you want?” My father said at last.

Did he actually think he could bribe me? “What I really want,” I said, “You can’t give me, because even you don’t have power to revive the dead. And the other thing I want, you _won’t_ give me.”

“What’s that?”

“Freedom,” I said. “To be myself, to tell the truth. Which is what you’re trying to stop, of course.”

“You. Are. Not. Kaoru.”

I smiled again. “You don’t have any way of knowing, do you? Congratulations. You know so little about your collateral offspring that you can’t correctly identify the body. I hope you’re proud.” I stood up.

“Where are you going?” my father demanded.

“My room,” I said. “To draft an email to every news media outlet I know.” I walked out of the room slowly, and then I broke into a run. I had no intention of leaving, but I fully expected my father to do _something_ , and included in the range of possible somethings _was_ him locking me away with no contact to the outside world.

The same guard entered my room no more than five minutes later. I eyed him distractedly from my bed, where I lay on my stomach writing the email on my laptop. The guard held out a q-tip.

“Rub it in your mouth, against your cheek,” he ordered.

DNA test. Even though Hikaru and I were identical twins, our genomes weren’t exactly the same. Smart. Good, non-crazy move. I obeyed.

“Lord Hitachiin requests that you make no moves until you both attempt to resolve this peacefully.”

“Sure,” I said out loud. Internally I thought, _I already tried that. Like hell he’s going to try again._

I worked on the draft for a solid hour, then I saved it and set it to auto-send in 24 hours. I changed all of my passwords, signed out, cleared my browser’s cache, and shut down the computer. Then I lay back. The color outside was rosy.

 _As long as I’m clearing out all the crap,_ I thought, _It’s time to visit Cougar Maid._

I thought about all of the possible routes away from the house, which ones would be least populated by servants, how great was the likelihood that I could bribe every single one I ran into—then I tossed those ideas and climbed out the window instead.

It was stupid. It was crazy. It was something that Hikaru had done frequently, and he had constantly wheedled with me, trying to get me to do the same. The one time he finally convinced me I had fallen, broken my ankle, and gotten a bad concussion that took me out of school for a week. He’d been consumed with guilt for months afterwards and never asked me to do it again. 

But now, riding high on the adrenaline rush of standing up to my parents, I cat-walked along the ornate, decorative ledge to one corner of the house. The outside of our mansion was so riddled with tasteful décor and designs that I had plenty of choices for handholds and footholds. But, reminiscent of my previously proven lack of catlike instincts, I slipped on my descent and fell.

I landed on one foot, flailed, and fell. I got up, grimacing, a sharp pain in my ankle and a dull throbbing in my knee. I limped across the grounds and successfully bribed one guard to let me out of the surrounding gates. The pain in my leg lessened and disappeared as I walked briskly along the street. Feeling extra-adventurous, I even used public transportation—a bus—to get downtown.

_Hikaru’d be so proud of me._

I arrived at a building that reminded me of Haruhi’s apartment complex. Recalling the maid’s instructions, I circled the building and went down an alley to the back. I checked my watch, then leaned against the dirty wall next to the back entrance, looking with wrinkled nose at a mysterious dried liquid that ran along the parking lot. I waited there for half an hour before the door creaked open—and there she was, looking strange out of her uniform.

I had intended to just say simply, “It’s over,” and then turn around and leave but I found myself tongue-tied, and in those precious wasted seconds she had jerked her head and disappeared, leaving the door open for me.

_Damn it._

I hurried after her, scolding myself, promising to get the words out as soon as I could, politely, of course, with a simple explanation—I rehearsed the short speech repeatedly as I ran after her up three flights of stairs. I walked into her apartment.

“Listen—”

“Shh,” she put her fingers against my mouth and shut the door. “Sit down, have some tea,” she handed me a cup. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the depths of the apartment. Weak-kneed, I obediently sank down at the chabudai ( _Tamaki would be thrilled,_ I thought) and held the steaming tea in my hands. I forced myself to rehearse again.

_I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, but I only came here to say I don’t wish to see you anymore._

What if she didn’t listen? I practiced a threat.

_If you touch me again I’ll have you fired and sue you for everything you own._

It felt and sounded petty in my head, but I didn’t know what else to do. I heard her footsteps coming back. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath—

Oh good glory, she was in her underwear. Well, not exactly. She was wearing a short silky robe and very clearly had either nothing or very little on underneath. I ducked my head, shut my eyes, and took a frantic sip from the tea. It scalded my tongue and I coughed.

“I’m glad you came. I thought you might chicken out,” she said.

An extraordinarily colorful string of language raced through my head. I opened my eyes but stared at the ground and didn’t look up.

 _Say it now,_ I ordered myself, _Say it now._ My mind had frozen.

“I’m sorry—” I began.

“Shh.”

Flustered, my neck and ears burning, I fell silent and bent over my cup with my shoulders hunched, wishing I could disappear.

“I understand you’re nervous,” she said soothingly, coming around the table. Her fingers were cold on my shoulder where they fiddled in my shirt collar.

_Oh hell no._

I coughed. “I’m sorry,” I stammered again. “F-for the misundershirkash—” my tongue tripped over itself. She laughed. I tried again. “I can’t—I don’t—shouldn’t shlaveshloucom—” what was wrong with my mouth? Flustered, I set my tea down. Or tried to. I somehow dropped the cup and it spilled across the table.

“Don’t worry about it,” her breath hit my ear.

I would stand up. I would leave.

I couldn’t get my limbs to move. I felt numb, as if the frozenness of my brain had spread out to the rest of my body. Even my tongue felt cold, and I’d just burnt it. She turned my face towards hers with her hand and the room suddenly flipped upside down. My vision clouded over.

I had to leave _now_. Fear suddenly flooded through me and I stood up.

Except I didn’t. The room tilted. She leaned in. I lifted my hands and pushed her.

Except I didn’t. My hand flipped over in my lap where it lay twitching, the fingertips like ice, the room swirling. My heart skipped a beat and I felt a cold sweat on my neck and I was going to throw up.

Mercy of mercies, she backed away. She wasn’t going to kiss me. She—

She pushed me, just lightly, just a tap on my chest and I fell over backwards. A dark shadow loomed over my head, silhouetted against the lightbulb in the ceiling, and I heard the maid laugh and _tsk-tsk_.

Somewhere in the midst of all my confusion, I suddenly understood. And for some reason the panic left and icy calm washed over me.

_I shouldn’t have drunk that tea._


	10. Cellmate

My vision blanked out and the silhouette disappeared.

 _I’m dead,_ I decided. A foul smell choked my breath. _She poisoned me. That tramp killed me._

I tasted the smell. It felt like something had crawled into my mouth, died, and was just now reaching the very ripest stage of decay.

_Wait. I can’t taste or smell if I’m dead._

Or perhaps one did retain their senses when they died. I had no way of knowing.

_Hikaru’d know._

Then pain snaked its way in. A pounding in my head. Dull aches ran from my shoulders down my back, through my hips, and even down to my knees. Pain definitely didn’t make sense if I was dead. I tried to smack my lips and swallow to get rid of the taste, but my jaw wouldn’t move. When I tried, a sharp tugging came from the back of my head. I tried to wiggle my aching shoulders.

I felt a surface underneath one. I was on my side, my knees bent, my arms twisted behind my back. They wouldn’t move either.

 _I’ve been kidnapped,_ I amended, and I actually felt surprised. _And they want me alive or I would be dead._  I wrinkled my nose and felt caked grime and sweat on my face. I was sweltering. _Stay calm._ I very slightly wiggled my hands again. _They’re tied behind my back._ I flexed my jaw. _I’m gagged._ I blinked hard. _And either I am spontaneously blind, or its pitch black, or…_ I turned my head the slightest big and felt roughness against my cheek. _Or I have a bag over my head. Fantastic._

The kidnapping scenes from every thriller and spy movie I’d ever seen ran through my head. I lay still and listened. A light humming, a slight trembling in the surface I was laying on. Car? Plane? Something?

“Any left?” The quiet voice wound through the humming and through my bag. I held my breath.

“Yeah, here.”

“Thanks.”

Quiet again. I wasn’t alone. The pain in my joints grew. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to place the voices. The second one sounded familiar, deep and rumbling. The other one sounded female – was it the maid? They’d drugged me. I wondered with what. How long had I been unconscious? I tried to remember.

I drank the tea, she pushed me back, darkness against the light – the silhouette – it was another person. She wasn’t working alone, then. I focused on the silhouette. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could remember the shape of a head with protruding ears – a patch of yellow. Why could I remember the color yellow?

She pushed me back, darkness against the light, she laughed, she wasn’t working alone, a patch of yellow – I opened my eyes again even though there was nothing to see still, a chill creeping down my spine despite the suffocating air. That maid had worked at our house for months – for over a year. This couldn’t be a spontaneous decision. Either she had planned it, or somebody had bribed her, or else placed her there on purpose. I had heard nothing about the ongoing investigation of who had shot Hikaru. Were these the same people? Why would they kill Hikaru, and kidnap me?

No, they had meant to kill me. And Hikaru – he had known somehow. I remembered him fighting his way through the crowds towards me, yelling and looking more terrified than I’d ever seen him in my life – and that was saying something. How had he known? Who had killed him? Who was kidnapping me?

My joints and muscles screamed at me. I reflexively flinched and twisted, trying to ease the pain.

“He’s awake.”

That voice again. I froze. I _did_ recognize that voice.

“We’re almost there,” said the female voice.

I frantically tried to place it, and the voice helped me out by addressing me, more loudly. “Hold still.”

I obeyed, but because of shock and not obedience. It was him. It was that big bodyguard that had hung around me after the shooting, when I was imprisoned. It was the same one who had carried my father’s summons when I’d run off. I had seen the yellow of the Hitachiin insignia on his shoulder when he leaned over me. Finally, sensible instincts kicked in and I felt terrified.

_I don’t want to die._

The—whatever I was in—lurched. I arched my back, feeling sweat trickle down my neck and shoulder blades, making them both itch. My tongue felt like dry cardboard, and it still tasted like a cat had died. The mode-of-transport gave a shudder. Another kind of rumbling gradually got louder and then faded, repeatedly. I twisted my wrists. Whatever they were tied with had plastered the skin of my wrists together for a good four inches.

“Where is she?” the female voice demanded. “I’m not going to hang out here forever.”

I breathed slowly in and out, forcing myself to think rationally. _They’re not going to kill me. They need me for something. And the only reason they would make such an elaborate plot to get me specifically means they need me specifically. And they need me specifically because I’m worth a lot of money._

“You don’t have a choice,” said my faux-bodyguard. The female muttered something about being seen. “It’s the beginning of summer. No one’s going to notice.”

A door slid open and shut. I decided at the noise that I was in a large car or van of some kind, and we were idling on the edge of a highway.

“Where were you?” the female voice snapped.

“I couldn’t just stand on the shoulder waiting,” said a new voice calmly. It was another woman, and her voice sounded creamy, and like it had the edge of a laugh in it. “I’m not dressed as a hitchhiker—the hell did you do to him?” A blinker clicked, and the floor lurched again as we pulled back out onto the highway.

“What?” snapped the cranky female.

“You were supposed to secure him, not hog-tie him. We’re not human traffickers for god’s sake.”

“That’s exactly what we are.”

“You, maybe,” the creaminess lessened slightly, replaced by bitterness. “I’m not. Where’s the mask?”

“Here,” said the bodyguard.

“Thanks. Sweetheart, you awake?”

I raised my eyebrows inside my bag. First of all, I couldn’t answer, I was gagged. Second of all, where did she come off daring to call me _sweetheart_? I snorted instead of answering her and wiggled my shoulders.

“Okay, hold still. I’m going to cut you free, but I have a box cutter, okay? Don’t want to cut you.”

I held still, recognizing at last with that clue what was holding my hands together, and probably what was covering my mouth and wrapped around my ankles. Duct tape. Classic. I heard her move around and kneel behind me. I felt a tugging at my wrist and cool fingers. I sighed in ecstasy when my arms were released. I rolled over onto my back and raised my hands to my face.

“Don’t,” warned the creamy woman. “I’ll get it off you in a minute. I’m going to do your feet now. Don’t do anything or I’ll have to taze you.”

I scowled, but after feeling that duct tape was also pinning the bag close to my neck, I rubbed my wrists and counted my fingers instead of trying to get it off. My ankles were free. I sat up.

“Take my arm,” the woman instructed. I held up my hand. She clenched my forearm and hauled me to my feet. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

 _What?_ Bewildered, I shook my head.

“Okay. I’m going to walk you backwards. There’s a seat behind you.” We took two steps back. Something bumped into the backs of my knees and sat down. “Are you right-handed?” I nodded. “Okay. I have to handcuff your left arm to the seat, okay?” She sounded so casual she could have been instructing me on how to solve a physics problem.

“What are you doing?” snapped the cranky female. “We’re supposed to secure him, not cater to him.”

“Why, do you know of someone who can get out of these high-grade handcuffs?” answered the creamy woman.

The bodyguard sighed noisily. “Could you ladies stop the cat-fighting and just do your jobs?”

Neither woman answered. Cold metal clinked around my wrist, and then snapped around the armrest. I set both arms on the rests and leaned back. “Now, I’m going to take the bag off, but you need to wear a mask. It’ll be more comfortable, I promise.”

I felt the box-cutter tugging at my neck, then the cloth loosened and she pulled it off. Cold air hit my face and I breathed in with relief. I looked around quickly before the woman slipped the mask over my eyes. “You can’t see where we’re taking you,” she said apologetically. In my brief glance, I had deduced that I was in what looked like a small lounge attached to the cabin of a large truck. It was night outside. I’d seen the headlights on the pavement. The creamy woman was dark-skinned and looked like she was in her twenties.

The new mask covered all of the top half of my face, not just my eyes, and it molded around my nose so I could see no light. The box-cutter went to work again, scrapping against the back of my head. It loosened. “This’ll hurt, sorry,” a few moments later the tape unwound, tearing out pieces of my hair with it. Mouth suddenly free, I yelped.

“Sorry,” said the dark woman again. “Want some water?”

I nodded. I heard a snap, and she put an open water bottle in my hand. I drank several large gulps, washing away the foul taste. I lowered the bottle a minute later, feeling my sweaty hair chilly now against my forehead and neck. I felt slightly less panicked now, and was annoyed about that – that was probably the point. Maybe it was some sort of reverse good-cop bad-cop routine.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I can’t tell you that either,” she sounded a little amused. “That’s why you’re wearing the mask, remember?”

I flushed from anger and took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

“Well—”

“Don’t,” the guard said, his voice clipped and harsh.

“Sorry,” said the woman. “I can’t tell you that.”

I scowled. “Are you holding me for ransom? I’ll give you whatever you want.” Not exactly a glamorous thing to say, but this wasn’t the movies.

“That’s nice to hear,” said the woman.

“My parents will too,” I added. The rumble of the car seemed to get louder in the following silence.

The woman spoke again, but it was so soft I almost didn’t hear it. I felt sure that the two in the front didn’t hear it either. “I hope so.”

*

I fell asleep. Hard to believe, maybe, but the after-effects of whatever they’d drugged me with included a gradually increasingly bad headache, slight nausea, and, once most of the panic left, an overwhelming exhaustion. I ate a granola bar that the woman offered me, and then I dozed off while trying to keep track of the curves and turns in the road.

I jolted awake when the van rolled to a stop. The woman unlocked the cuff that kept me attached to the chair and led me out, giving me detailed instructions about where the steps were, to not walk too quickly or I might run into a stray pole or wall, to be quiet and not speak unless spoken to because some of these people were irritable—

 _How big is this kidnapping ring?_ I wondered and despite myself, began to feel afraid again and automatically stayed close to the side of my most helpful kidnapper.

Our feet echoed when we stepped out of the large vehicle, making me think we were either in a warehouse or a large garage. She instructed me to climb some steps, so I did, and then to climb down some steps, so I did, and we took several turns and I completely lost my sense of direction. We finally stopped.

“Good evening, Kendra,” said a new voice, which was either a high-pitched male or a low-pitched female; I oculdn’t tell which. Either way, it sounded utterly bored.

“Good morning,” said the woman tersely, her helpful arm still entwined with mine. “I need the key.” After a moment and a few clinking sounds, she said, “No, it’s for block C.”

Where was I, a prison? A holding warehouse for kidnapees?

“Change of plan,” said the bored voice. “Put him block B.”

“Why?” Kendra demanded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, we wanted him alone, didn’t we?”

“Block C is occupied,” said the new voice. “He’ll have to share block B.”

I was going to have a cell mate? I tried to not look too relieved. At least I wasn’t the only one who would be completely at a loss.

“Hogwash,” said Kendra. “This isn’t exactly a hotel. C isn’t occupied.”

“As far as you know, it is,” the voice said, sounding completely unperturbed. “Look, here’s the memo. Convinced?”

Kendra sighed. “ _Fine._ But won’t the other guy cause trouble if they have to share?”

My relief deflated somewhat. Oh great. Was this a prison after all? Was I sharing a room with some violent felon? I resolved to be very meek, mild, and subservient if necessary. Kendra led me away, down another flight of stairs. “Uh—” I dared to speak up. “What exactly—”

“Don’t ask questions,” Kendra sounded tired. “I’m not allowed to answer.” We stopped. Something let out a beep and a click. “Here you are.” She pushed me forward. I bumped my shoulder into a door as it swung open. The door clicked shut. I heard running water. Kendra dropped my arm and fumbled at my wrist. The handcuff came off. Then, glory hallelujah, she slipped her fingers under the strap around my head and pulled off the mask. I blinked in the bright light, blinded. “See you,” she said, and went back to the door.

“Wait!” I said, afraid again. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Get some sleep,” said Kendra, and she left. The door beeped and locked behind her. I squeezed my eyes shut, then turned around and examined the room. Despite Kendra saying it wasn’t a hotel, it looked a lot like a hotel room. Thin, brown-orange patterned carpet lined the floor. Two twin beds were lined against the opposite wall, one with crumpled blue bedcovers and a pillow, the other bare of sheets or pillows but covered with a change of what looked like bland, gray pajamas, a notebook and some pens, and—I almost laughed. A Gideon bible. How thoughtful.

A few feet to the right of the bare bed was a half-open door, from which the sound of running water came. A thin cloud of steam hovered in midair. The most un-hotel thing about the room was the solid, smooth metal door with no inside handle. I had turned to examine it when the water in the bathroom shut off, and I heard the distinct sound of a curtain being raked back. Oh dear, what if my cellmate came out naked? I kept my back to the bathroom door, wondering if I should call out, or clear my throat, or make some other obvious loud noise to announce my presence. The easiest thing to do, I decided, was quickly go to the bed, lay down, and pretend to be asleep. I wondered how short my pretend nap could be; I needed to pee.

My mind made up, I quickly turned around.  At that exact moment the other person left the bathroom.

He was wearing shorts, and he didn’t see me right away. He was looking down at what looked like a large cell phone in one hand, lips pursed in concentration, the other hand rubbing his hair with a towel. But I didn’t see any of this right away either. My entire body went cold, as if I'd just been plunged into a deep pool of ice water.

My cellmate glanced up. His eyes widened. The towel and large cell phone fell to the ground. An expression of astonished, ecstatic, unadulterated joy lit up his features.

“Kaoru!” Hikaru cried.


	11. Screaming, Sleeping, Laughing, Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Dorotheian, Aya, phanese, Pearl-Pen, and Nyckyyi, who were so kind as to leave reaction comments on the last chapter. I love those things so much, you have no idea. Enjoy! <3

Hikaru took several steps forward, and in the two seconds it took to cross the room his relief and euphoria melted into unease. Kaoru went grey and stared at him, glassy-eyed, mouth partly open. Hikaru hesitated.

“Kaoru?”

He took another step and Kaoru jerked backwards, hands grabbing at the walls, and fell into the corner behind the door with his arms outstretched. He looked like he might faint.

“Kaoru,” Hikaru held out his right hand, not daring to come closer, bewildered and a little frightened. Movement of his left arm was impeded by the damp bandages around his shoulder. “Kaoru, it’s me. What’s wrong?” Kaoru just stared. An awful idea implanted itself into Hikaru’s mind. “What did they do to you?” He didn’t respond and that made his fear worse. Hikaru took another cautious, sliding step. Kaoru flinched. Part of Hikaru wanted to be angry; he wanted to be furious. He wanted to hurt whoever had frightened his brother this badly. But he packaged that away for another time and kept his focus on getting to Kaoru. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, in a voice that people usually reserved for frightened puppies or kitchens. He continued taking small steps forward. “Come on, it’s me. You’re all right.”

Kaoru, as Hikaru came closer, slowly slid to the floor, legs folding underneath him, hands still grabbing at the walls. Hikaru knelt in front of him, saying nothing. Kaoru finally stopped staring into Hikaru’s eyes. His gaze went across his face, up to his hair, across again and down. It lingered at his shoulder for a moment before continuing its journey downwards to Hikaru’s bare feet and then up again. His right hand finally left the wall. He held it up in the air between them a moment. Hikaru almost stopped breathing. Then Kaoru reached forward and his fingertips brushed Hikaru’s face.

His voice was so quiet it almost had no sound. Only one syllable escaped. “Hik…?”

Hikaru smiled. “Hey, Kao-chan.”

Kaoru lurched forward, colliding with Hikaru so hard that he fell over onto his rear, nearly falling flat on his back. Hikaru caught himself, legs sprawled, blinking away the fog that came with the spasm of pain across his shoulder. Kaoru locked his arms around Hikaru’s torso and buried his face in his neck, half-sitting, half-kneeling, all but hanging off of him.

“Uh…” Hikaru returned the hug (if it could be called that), grimacing, unsure what to do.

Kaoru shuddered and began to make very strange sounds. Almost a growl, almost a whimper, almost a suffocating, choking cough. Hikaru clenched his jaw and, ignoring the deep, stabbing protests of his shoulder, tightened his grip. His left hand trembled and his left arm spasmed but he didn’t care. Kaoru’s chest heaved and the sounds became more recognizable, matching the hot liquid dripping onto Hikaru’s neck. Hikaru held him, looking into the camera up on the wall. The anger that he had kept pushed down sparked into life, heating his stomach.

“What did they do?” he whispered, and he couldn’t even hear himself through Kaoru’s inhuman sobbing. He sounded like he might cough up a lung. “What did they do to you?”

The longer Kaoru cried, the more wild he became. He started shaking—not just trembling, but shaking: spasming and jerking as if he were having a seizure. Hikaru pulled him in further, holding him flush against him and readjusted his grip.

 _Not again,_ Hikaru glared at the camera. _You understand me, you bastards? If you try to touch him again you’ll have to go through me._

Kaoru slowly stopped shaking. His clothes were wet through with sweat, and Hikaru could still feel hot tears and mucus against his shoulder, but Kaoru turned his head slightly, moving so he wasn’t pressed up against Hikaru’s neck. In between the gasps for breath and ragged remnants of sobbing, Kaoru mumbled something over and over—it took several tries before Hikaru understood what he was saying.

“—alive. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.”

“What?”

Kaoru didn’t seem to have heard him. “You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re—” a rasp and a whimper interrupted. “—alive.”

Hikaru pushed aside his confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, Kaoru, I’m alive.” His mind raced, but he waited as the pain in his shoulder grew into stabs that reverberated down his arm and through his stomach. He was positive he felt his liver cramping by the time Kaoru finally relaxed. Hikaru shifted, cautiously pushing him up. Kaoru’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was flushed, covered with sticky tears and snot and/or spit. Kaoru seemed to become aware of this at the same time Hikaru did. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and rubbed his face clean. Hikaru casually leaned over and grabbed the towel he’d dropped earlier and rubbed his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Kaoru whispered in a hoarse voice, his hand falling to rest on Hikaru’s right knee.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Hikaru rolled his shoulder. “All things considered.” He waited a moment. Kaoru continued to stare at him, leaning forward and still looking disbelieving. “Uh…just to clarify…they told you I was dead?” Kaoru’s lips twisted. “Those bastards. They told me they had you, but I tried calling their bluff, I mean why would you threaten somebody by saying they’ll hurt your brother if they don’t show him to you—I didn’t believe them, I’m sorry…they didn’t, did they?” Hikaru let this question slide out casually, but he braced himself and waited for an outburst that didn’t come. Kaoru’s gaze was wandering over his body again. “Kaoru.”

“Huh?” his voice sounded faint.

“Did they hurt you?”

“What? Oh. No.”

Hikaru didn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more worried. “Hey, are you okay? You look pretty out of it.” Kaoru didn’t answer again. He didn’t appear to have heard him. “Kaoru!” Hikaru snapped his fingers in front of Kaoru’s face. He shuddered and his eyes focused on his again. “Tell me the truth. What did they do to you?”

Kaoru looked confused. “Nothing. I mean, they drugged me, and tied me up, but—”

“What for?” Hikaru massaged his left palm, trying to get the tremors out of it.

Kaoru blinked. “That’s how kidnapping works.”

Hikaru shook his head. “No, I mean recently. What did they to do you?”

“That was recent,” said Kaoru, still looking mildly puzzled. His eyes glossed over again. “Earlier today. Or yesterday. Maybe the day before.”

Hikaru stopped massaging his palm and stared. “ _What_?”

“That’s when they drugged me.”

“I thought you said they drugged you to kidnap you.”

“Well, yeah.”

Hikaru dropped his left hand in his lap and leaned forward, leaning his right elbow on his knee next to Kaoru’s hand and staring into his face. Kaoru’s eyes focused again. “You were kidnapped _yesterday_? Where were you before then?”

 “Home,” said Kaoru, and Hikaru’s mouth dropped open.

“ _Home_? Japan? The house? You were _home_? But—I got shot—they were going to get us both—they let you go _home_?”

“Fernando grabbed me,” said Kaoru, in a distant voice. He moved his hand and brushed his fingers across Hikaru’s collarbone, making goosebumps go down Hikaru’s spine. “They put me in an armored car. I went back to the hotel.”

“But—” Hikaru’s mind whirled. “You thought I was dead? They’re holding me for ransom and you decided I was dead?”

“Ransom?” Kaoru’s fingers stopped moving and they rested in the middle of Hikaru’s chest. “Hikaru, everybody thinks you’re dead. Mom, Dad, the Club, the whole country—the whole _world._ They told us you were dead.”

“ _Who_ told you I was dead?”

“Doctors. The police. Everybody.” Kaoru frowned as if this took a great effort to remember. “They gave us your ashes.” His voice diminished to a faint whisper. “You had a funeral. You have a grave. Oh _god_ —you were _dead_ —” Kaoru clamped both hands over his mouth and leaned over, his head between his knees, shoulders shaking and deep hacking, gasping breaths coming from behind his hands and whistling through his nose.

“Okay, okay, come on—” Hikaru stood up and took his shoulders from behind. A thousand new conspiracy theories were racing through his mind, each one less likely than the last. He hauled Kaoru to his feet, then rounded him and grabbed his forearms. “To the bed, come on.” He led him backwards until they reached his bed. Kaoru stumbled. Hikaru caught him and pushed him into a sitting position on top of the rumpled blankets. “You need some water? Food? I have an orange left over from last night.”

The moment he let go Kaoru doubled over again, but he stopped gasping. Hikaru crouched and dragged out the tray from under the bed. There was still some water in the disposable plastic cup. Hikaru sat down beside Kaoru and held it between his knees as he pulled his brother up again. Kaoru didn’t resist, shoulders relaxing. Hikaru pulled Kaoru’s hands down from his mouth, and then forgot about the water. He turned Kaoru’s hands over in his. The palms were cold and clammy. Kaoru shivered and swayed.

“I’m—” he rasped. “I feel—” The cup slid from between Hikaru's knees and bumped softly to the carpet, sloshing its contents everywhere as it rolled across the floor and under the other bed. Kaoru covered his face again. Hikaru fidgeted.

“You sure they didn’t poison you?”

Kaoru whimpered. Hikaru patted his knee and stood up, intending to go retrieve his shirt from the bathroom. A sharp pain shot through his hand; Kaoru had grabbed it and seemed to be trying to squeeze the blood out of it.

“Ow,” Hikaru protested.

“Don’t leave,” Kaoru said in a rough, torn tone of voice.

“I was just—”

“Don’t leave.”

 Hikaru gave up. All he could do, it appeared, was wait it out. So he pulled Kaoru across the bed, pushing him down until his head relaxed against the lumpy pillow. Then he lay down next to him. Kaoru instantly rolled onto his side, hugging Hikaru close with his head resting on Hikaru’s good shoulder. Hikaru returned the hug, staring at the ceiling, and listened to Kaoru fall asleep, jerk awake, fall asleep, whimper, jerk awake, whisper, “ _Don’t go_ ,” and fall asleep again. Hikaru used the time imagining up the perfect tirade to give to anybody who would listen the next time a kidnapper showed their face in their room.

Hikaru didn’t know how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to Kaoru dream, but it was at least three hours and it was long after they delivered a tray with two breakfasts on it when Hikaru glanced at Kaoru and saw that both of his eyes were open and staring into space.

“Hungry?” Hikaru ventured. Kaoru blinked and made a non-committal noise in his throat. “I’m hungry. Is it okay if I eat?”

Kaoru frowned, then slowly unhooked himself. “Why are you asking my permission to eat?”  

“Well you’ve been sort of – ” Hikaru sat up and gestured vaguely. “ – catatonic?”  

“Sorry,” Kaoru muttered. He grabbed Hikaru’s hand as Hikaru stood up, scrambling to stand beside him, walking over with him to the door where the tray lay.

Hikaru glanced at him, relaxing his fingers. “Do you mind—”

“I got it,” said Kaoru, and he bent down and picked up the tray one-handed. Hikaru frowned, but didn’t say anything. Kaoru didn’t seem to be aware of his own odd behavior. Kaoru led him back to the bed. They sat down and put the tray between them, but Kaoru would not let go of his hand. “So what happened?” he asked casually, picking up a piece of bread spread with marmalade. He took a large bite.

“Huh?” Hikaru watched him eat.

“When I thought you died,” Kaoru said, mouth full. “What happened?”

“Well I got shot, obviously,” Hikaru began. Kaoru licked his fingers and picked up another piece. “I overheard one of our bodyguards. That’s how I knew they were going to try to shoot you. It’s a conspiracy of some sort.”

“Yeah,” Kaoru mumbled, spraying crumbs. All right, he’d figured out that much.

“They made it sound like they wanted to kill both of us, but they were going to settle for killing just you, when I heard them talking. So I thought I was toast. It gets kind of fuzzy for a while; I was pretty out of it.” Hikaru’s shoulder ached. He automatically rotated it. “I woke up eventually in some hospital-room type thing, except there were a couple desks and computers and file cabinets. I assumed I’d been rescued, but when they wouldn’t let me see you—or anybody else—and Kendra was the only person who looked after me and she didn’t dress like a doctor—I got suspicious. I tried to sneak around about a week in, but I think unhooking myself triggered a silent alarm or something because I only spent about a minute trying to pick the lock on the filing cabinet before Kendra came in and made me get back in bed. I asked her point-blank where I was and where my family was and she said she couldn’t tell me. So I figured something about the plan had changed and I was being held for ransom, because you can’t hold someone for ransom if they’re dead. My shoulder and arm hurt like hell though.”

Kaoru’s hand, still holding Hikaru’s, twitched. Kaoru swallowed quickly and gulped down water.

Hikaru frowned as Kaoru stuffed his face with sausages. “Are you sure you wanna talk about this now? We’re not going anywhere—”

“I’m good,” Kaoru interrupted. “Keep going.”  

Hikaru rolled his shoulder again. “Well, after I tried to get out, Kendra handcuffed me to the bed so it got pretty obvious I hadn’t been rescued. I only saw Kendra for a long time. Apparently the bullet fractured my shoulder and nicked one of my major arteries. There was some nerve damage too. I’ve had a lot of physical therapy, and I got to be sort of grateful for it because other people started coming in and asking me questions about mom and dad and the business and they didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know anything. It made them really mad, but they didn’t do anything, I think maybe because I was sick. They also kept calling me Kaoru and didn’t believe me when I said I was Hikaru. I eventually gave up and let them call me whatever they wanted. I thought maybe they were holding you somewhere and you were intentionally confusing them, I don’t know.” Hikaru slowed, not relishing the memory of this time. “They said they were holding you, and they started saying they’d hurt you if I didn’t tell them anything. It scared me at first, but then they didn’t never showed you to me and so I thought they didn’t have you at all, or at least that they were treating you as well as they were treating me. I asked them if they’d killed you and they wouldn’t say. I asked Kendra point-blank and she wouldn’t say. The anxiety was horrible. I started wondering if the plan had changed to kidnap me, but kill you. I didn’t know what to think. So I refused to cooperate, started ripping off bandages and intentionally hurting my shoulder until they told me you were fine.” Kaoru’s hand flinched, but the rest of him looked completely calm. “I didn’t believe them, but Kendra told me you were fine and she’s a horrible liar so I believed her.” Hikaru paused.

Kaoru wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand. “You were surprised, though, when I told you I’d been home all this time.”

“Well, yeah. I assumed they had kidnapped you too and were keeping you somewhere else. So when you finally showed up I was just really happy to see you.”  Kaoru stared at the ground, other hand limp in his lap. He’d gone pale again. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Kaoru said in a distant voice.

“So what happened to you?” Hikaru asked. Kaoru had eaten most of the food on the tray, but Hikaru had lost his appetite. He picked up one of the cups of water instead. “After I got shot. How’d they get you?” Kaoru shuddered and his eyes squeezed shut. “Oh, damn, never mind—”

“No, it’s okay,” said Kaoru in a tiny voice, even though his eyes stayed tightly shut. “I was stupid, that’s what happened. Snuck out of the house after rebelling against Mom and Dad, got myself drugged.”

Hikaru hadn’t thought about his parents. “Mom and Dad,” he repeated curiously. “How did they react? To me being dead, I mean?”

Kaoru didn’t answer for several long seconds. “Like you’d expect, I guess,” he said woodenly. “They were shocked, did a big show for the press, subjected me to interrogation, that sort of thing.” Hikaru felt a familiar prickle of anger and abandonment, but he did his best to bury it as per usual. Kaoru looked at Hikaru for the first time since the beginning of their conversation, eyes less guarded than they had been. “Your funeral was horrible. Lots of press, a big showy display. Lots of motherly affection.”

“Well,” said Hikaru sourly. “I guess that’s better than them just deciding not to pay my ransom, which is what I had almost decided they were doing. I was wondering what was taking them so long.”

Kaoru paused for another long moment, lips working together like he was having a large internal struggle. At last he added, still woodenly, “I ran out.”

“Did you?” Hikaru took a drink of water. “Good for you.”

Kaoru looked relieved. “I flipped off the press too,” he said, peering at Hikaru as if searching for further confirmation. “Told them to go to hell.”

Hikaru snickered, spilling water down his front. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt; his clothes were still in the bathroom and Kaoru still had a death grip on his hand. “Bet Mom and Dad loved that.”

“Yeah. Dad took a page from our grade school nanny’s book.”

Hikaru stopped laughing and stared at him. “Oh god. He didn’t—you weren’t—”

Kaoru shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. He decided to punish me by taking me out of school instead, nice and far away from the press. Nothing was really that bad, compared to…” he didn’t finish. Hikaru felt a wave of relief. He still daydreamed about taking that old nanny to court—when they got out of this, they really ought to ask Kyoya for legal advice…if they were lucky, they could probably land her in jail, or at least get a nice fat payoff.

Something else was bothering Hikaru. He eyed Kaoru cautiously. “Uh, Kaoru, why d’you think my—our—kidnappers thought I was you?” Kaoru instantly looked uncomfortable. He dropped his gaze to the carpet and his free hand fidgeted, playing with the folds of the blankets.  Hikaru prodded, “I’m assuming our kidnappers aren’t completely cut off from the news, and I’m assuming my death made headline news—or is that arrogant of me?” He said this last bit in a joking voice. Kaoru didn’t meet his eyes and didn’t say anything. At last Hikaru resorted to asking him point-blank. “Were you pretending to be me?” Kaoru didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Hikaru stared at him, worry gnawing his insides. Or maybe that was hunger from the skipped breakfast. “Why?” he asked softly.

“Dunno,” Kaoru muttered. “Didn’t mean to. Just happened.”

“Why did you feel like you needed to be me?” Hikaru asked himself just as much as Kaoru. Kaoru’s jaw clenched, and for the first time he looked angry, but he still wouldn’t meet Hikaru’s eyes. “Why?” Hikaru repeated.

“ _You were dead!_ ” Kaoru burst out, making Hikaru jump. “You were dead for _two months_ , Hikaru, don’t you get it? You were _dead_ and I couldn’t _stand_ it! This was—” he stopped abruptly, and his eyes had gotten wide. “This was easier,” he said almost in a whisper. After another pause, he added fiercely, “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” said Hikaru, truthfully. _I’m disturbed,_ he finished silently. Then another thought occurred to him, like a sledgehammer to his gut. “Haruhi—”

“Saw through it immediately,” Kaoru interrupted. Hikaru let out a sigh of relief. Of course Haruhi wouldn’t have been fooled, he needn’t have worried. At the thought of Haruhi, his empty stomach turned over, not unpleasantly. After Kaoru, he’d missed her the most.

“Oh man,” he said, more to himself than to Kaoru. “She thinks I’m dead too.”

“She’s not dating anyone else,” said Kaoru, sounding strangely sour all of a sudden. Hikaru chewed his lower lip, feeling sour himself. He’d missed his brother too much to want to quarrel with him now, but the conversation had become decidedly unpleasant. He sighed and started to stand, started to shake Kaoru’s hand away.

Immediately Kaoru’s fingers clamped down again and he looked up at Hikaru, face full of panic. “Don’t leave.”

Hikaru stared at him. “I’m not leaving,” he said. Kaoru had gone pale again, and he continued to stare at Hikaru, looking terrified. “I’m not!” Hikaru repeated. “Where would I go?” He tried to extract his hand.

“ _Don’t leave!_ ” Kaoru practically sobbed.

Hikaru stood there, feeling stuck. “I need to use the toilet,” he said truthfully. Kaoru appeared to think this over, then he got to his feet. “I’d rather you not come in with me,” said Hikaru, bewildered and a little bit panicky himself.

“Oh…right…” said Kaoru in a normal, non-psychotic sort of way, and he let go of Hikaru’s hand. Hikaru went to the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned against the wall for a long time, trying to think. Kaoru was not okay. He was not normal, as much as he was pretending to be. Hikaru picked his shirt of the floor and pulled it over his head, thinking. Perhaps he’d better add a paragraph or two in his planned verbal assault on Kendra – maybe she could have him psychologically examined. _If these psychos are sane enough to evaluate him,_ Hikaru thought bitterly. While washing his hands, he had a sudden, terrifying thought: if Kaoru was not completely in his right mind, there was no telling what he could be doing now – he could be hurting himself—he could be trying to _kill_ himself for all Hikaru knew—

Hikaru flew to the door and flung it open, then staggered backwards with a startled yell. Kaoru was standing directly outside, as though he had had his nose pressed up to the door. For a brief moment Kaoru’s eyes were wide and unfocused, mouth slightly open, face as grey as it had been when he’d first seen Hikaru. The next moment he looked completely normal, if still a little ashen-faced. Hikaru, openly staring at him, sidled past him. Kaoru strolled into the bathroom, but he left the door open and Hikaru, heart pounding, feeling a nausea that did not come from hunger, walked shakily back to the bed. Kaoru came back out scarcely a minute later, though he did take the time to wash his hands. He took Hikaru’s hand again – his left one this time – and said in a bright voice, “So what exactly is it you do all day in here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to write this one because I wrote one version and then deleted it because it felt decidedly over-dramatic. I re-wrote it and it became decidedly darker. Oops.


	12. The Cat Hiding in the Bag

Hikaru’s sources of entertainment were, in order of usage:

a vintage Nintendo Gameboy unit (“I thought that was a cell phone at first,” said Kaoru.)

the entirety of the Harry Potter book series (“There’s a reason Kendra’s my favorite. I tried to convince her to bring me Black Butler and some Stephen King but she just gave me a dirty look.”)

and a notebook and pencils (“Tried to create some hard Sudoku puzzles. Didn’t really work out, but it killed several afternoons.”)

The Gameboy unit was actually a part of Hikaru’s physical therapy. “If you crush me in the levels, I’ll kill you,” he said, looking over Kaoru’s left shoulder as Kaoru started up a game. “I’ve been working my butt off trying to get through them all.”

“So why’re you worried?” Kaoru muttered, eyes fastened on the screen, fingers flying.

“I have a handicap.” Hikaru flexed his left hand. “Trying to rebuild my awesome hand-eye coordination, but my nerves are slow on the uptake. Bullet did a number on them. Apparently there’s an important cluster in the shoulder, did you know that?”

Kaoru didn’t answer. He went silent for several hours, working on the game, not even looking up when Kendra walked in with lunch on a tray and her football-shaped medical pouch on her hip. “Hi,” said Hikaru, in a voice as accusatory as he could make it. Kendra raised an eyebrow and set the tray down on the opposite bed.

“Hi,” she said coolly. “Enjoying your reunion?”

Hikaru scowled. “You all are a bunch of condescending, arrogant bastards, you know that?”

“So you’ve informed me from day one,” said Kendra rolling her eyes. She took a band off her wrist and pulled back her bushy black hair, glancing at Kaoru who was hunched over the bleeping Gameboy and not giving any indication that he was listening. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurting. Because you bastards shot me,” huffed Hikaru.

“You’re a little extra bitchy today, aren’t you?”

“You would be too, if—” Hikaru stopped his planned tirade. He suddenly didn’t want to talk about it; not in front of Kaoru, whether he was listening or not.

Kendra smiled and beckoned. “Move over here, please.”

Without looking up, Kaoru clamped his hand down over Hikaru’s where it lay resting on his thigh. Hikaru, expecting this, didn’t even flinch. “Nah,” he said casually. The Gameboy let out a sad little jingle that meant “game over” but Kaoru continued to look at it as if he were still playing, even though his hands were still.

Kendra glowered. “Look, you can be pissy all you want, Hikaru, but I need—”

Hikaru resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. “Oh, so you believe I’m Hikaru now?” 

“Obviously I’ve been watching you two,” said Kendra. “Part of my job, remember? You could be faking, of course, but I don’t think anybody could fake that reunion.” Hikaru went red. “Don’t worry, Bill and I think you’re cute, if a little extra touchy-feely for boys your age.”

Bill had been mentioned a few times prior. Hikaru pictured him as an overweight blue-clad middle-aged man with a friendly smile, stubble, and a perpetual box of donuts next to his desk which was mounted with fifteen different security camera screens. “That’s nothing,” said Hikaru. “You should see us at school.”

“I look forward to it. Now come over here so I can change your bandages.”

Kaoru’s hand clamped around Hikaru’s fingers. “No,” said Hikaru flatly. “You’ll have to come sit on my other side. I’m not moving.”

Kendra’s very open face showed her conflicted desires and uncertainties. “Damn it,” she muttered at last, stomping over to Hikaru’s other side and sitting down. “I _knew_ this was a bad idea.”

“What was a bad idea?” Hikaru asked.

“Don’t ask—”

“—you can’t tell me,” Hikaru finished. “Shocker.” Kendra got out a little pair of scissors and sawed away at the gauze and tape, lifting away the tangled mess in one large piece. Hikaru rolled his shoulder and leaned his head back. “How is it? Do I have six months to live?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” said Kendra. “But no, it’s fine. Healing nicely.” The wound had healed over and looked distinctly like a small shriveled, imploded plum, with the new shiny and old ragged skin all puckering around the edges.

“That’s comforting,” Hikaru chewed his lower lip and carefully formed his next sentence while Kendra moved his shoulder in slow, painful circles, then told him to clench his fist, then told him to tap out a certain rhythm, then timed how long it took his fingers to successfully tap out the pattern. Kendra re-wrapped his shoulder (“Won’t need this much longer,” she commented), and Hikaru asked, “Say, would you look at Kaoru too?”

“What for, something wrong with him?” Kendra put her supplies back into her back. She stood up and looked expectantly at Kaoru. “Something wrong with you?”

Hikaru looked at Kaoru too. His hand was still on Hikaru’s, but not clamping it anymore. His other hand had fallen to his lap, still holding the Gameboy, and he was staring at his knees. He did not move, and he said nothing.

“You guys drugged him with something,” said Hikaru. “Would there be side-effects or anything?”

“It should be out of his system by now,” said Kendra, shrugging. She turned away. “As for side-effects, I’m not sure, there shouldn’t be – it’s kind of experimental, so—”

“ _You gave my brother an experimental drug?_ ” Hikaru hollered.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” said Kendra irritably. She dug a penlight out of her pocket and turned back around, bending over. She reached out to tip Kaoru’s face upwards but he finally moved, shying away from her touch. She let out an annoyed huff and put the penlight away. “Okay, fine, if you’re going to be like that.” She picked up the breakfast tray and stormed from the room.

“Kendra’s sensitive like that,” Hikaru commented. “It’s like she’s always PMSing. Don’t think she wants to be here anymore than we do.” Kaoru continued to be fascinated by his knees. Hikaru cleared his throat. “Hungry?” Kaoru shook his head. Hikaru stood up, ignoring the pinch of pain from Kaoru tightening his grip, and moved the tray closer so he could eat off of it (albeit clumsily) with his left hand.

*

Kaoru was not answering his messages. Exams were over, school was out, summer was beginning, Haruhi would be leaving any day now (hopefully) for her internship at a law firm in Yokohama, and Kaoru would not answer his messages. To make matters worse, Tamaki and Kyoya’s graduation party was coming up and Tamaki was, of course, frantic because he wanted Kaoru to enjoy himself and thought he absolutely _must_ get Kaoru’s opinion on things like appetizers and punch flavors and decorations so he could enjoy himself as much as possible. And Kaoru was not answering his messages. So who got elected to go up to the mansion and scold him? Haruhi, of course. She didn’t mind, really, but she had so much to do before leaving (assuming she got the position), including scrounging up enough money to buy a second-hand suit...

Haruhi stepped off the bus and ignored the incredulous look from the driver. She hadn’t had time to bother with changing into her nicest clothes, and changing into her nicest clothes to go visit a good friend would really be ridiculous—no matter that this friend lived in the ritziest part of town. The Hitachiin mansion was up on a hill, surrounded by what looked like miles of lawns and gardens on the map at the bus stop. Haruhi adjusted the strap of her purse and walked up the long drive. Three years ago she would have felt terribly awkward and out of place, but these years at Ouran had trained her well. She marched straight up to the black iron-wrought gate, not thinking twice about the line of edgy-looking burly men and a single woman at the end.

“This is private property,” snapped the solitary woman, glaring down at her with her hands behind her back.

“I’m here to see K—uh, Hikaru Hitachiin,” Haruhi said, catching herself just in time.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“My name is Haruhi Fujioka. I’m a friend of his from Ouran Academy.”

The woman looked instantly even more suspicious. “Do you have an ID?”

Haruhi dug in her purse and produced her shabby black wallet. She removed her Ouran Student ID. The woman took it from her, looking from it to her face and back again. She held it up over her shoulder and one of the burly men took it from her, shambling into a little hut built into the wall on one side of the gate.

“I’m an honors student,” Haruhi said, in an attempt to smooth over her suspicions. “I have a scholarship.”

“I’m sure you do,” said the woman gruffly. She looked straight ahead and put her hands back behind her back. Haruhi shifted her shoulder strap and waited. The man stayed in the guard hut for a long time. When he finally came back out, instead of addressing Haruhi, he muttered something in the woman’s ear and handed her Haruhi’s card. The woman looked at it again, then looked up. “Why are you coming to visit?” she asked.

For crying out loud, this was getting ridiculous. Haruhi took a deep breath. “He hasn’t been answering his phone. I wanted to see if he was all right. And I needed to ask him about his preferences on hors d’oeuvres for a graduation party.”

The woman once again heightened her look of suspicion. “He isn’t graduating.”

 “A _friend’s_ graduation party.” Haruhi held out her hand. Behind her, a car slid up to the gate, and one of the guards went to speak to the driver in low voices. “Can I have my card back?”

“Fujioka, Haruhi?” A man’s voice came from behind her.

Haruhi turned around. “…yes?”

A tall, sleekly dressed man in a dark suit held out his hand. “I’m Detective-Inspector Komatsu. Will you come with me, please?”

Haruhi blinked. “Detective-Inspector? Are you on the force looking for Hi—Kaoru?”

“Yes. Come with me, please.”

Haruhi usually had no problems trusting law enforcement. But with the wall of security behind her, with the woman not giving her ID card back, with the grim expressions of everyone around, she felt suddenly uneasy. “Why?”

“We need you to come in for questioning.”

Haruhi’s mind raced. “Can I see your badge?”

The man impatiently whipped out a badge from his jacket pocket and held it in front of her face. “If you do not come quietly, we will take you in by force. You are under arrest.”

Surely she heard that wrong. Haruhi took one step backwards. “Excuse me?” In response, the man took a step forward and grabbed her arm. “Hey! Ow! Stop it!” He pulled her towards the car. “I’m coming, I’m coming, but _why_ am I under arrest?” She slid into the backseat.

“Suspicion of aiding and abetting high-class criminals in the abduction of Kaoru Hitachiin.”

“ _What_?” Haruhi spluttered, then she stuck out her leg to prevent him from closing the door. “She still has my ID.” It suddenly felt very important. “I want my ID back.”

The inspector turned around, swiped the card from the woman’s hand, and dropped it in Haruhi’s outstretched palm. “Thanks.” Haruhi pulled her leg into the back of the ritzy police car and the door slammed shut. A faceless officer in the opposite front seat read her her rights.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…_

The chant, surprisingly, worked, and Haruhi felt very calm and collected by the time the car pulled into the police station. She got out and followed every instruction without protest, allowing them to take her inside, confiscate her purse, and seat her in an interrogation room, complete with a table, two chairs, and a camera mounted on the ceiling.

The Inspector joined her a few minutes later, sitting across the table.

“What’s this about?” Haruhi asked, as calmly as she could, unable to keep the slight edge of anger from her voice.

“I’ll ask the questions,” said the Inspector, not unkindly, shuffling some papers. “Please state your name.”

“Fujioka Haruhi. I would like a lawyer, please.”

“You can call your lawyer as soon as you’d like. Let’s get through the preliminaries first. How do you know Hikaru and Kaoru Hitachiin?”

“We’re in the same class at Ouran Academy.”

The Inspector looked up from his papers. “You attend Ouran Academy?”

“Yes,” she added the obligatory footnote. “I’m a scholarship student.”

“I see. What did you do to win this scholarship?”

Haruhi frowned. “I applied.”

“Did you have any relation with anyone at the school before your application?”

Haruhi thought for a moment, scrambling back through time, trying to remember a life where she _hadn’t_ known anybody from Ouran. “I don't think so…”

The Inspector made a note. “Where were you on the morning of April the 23rd?”

The date was burned into her memory. “Home, until 7:30, when I went to school.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Hitachiin Hikaru?”

“We were—are—friends.” Haruhi winced. The Inspector made another note. “I would like a lawyer, please.”

The Inspector ignored her. “Some people would say you were more than friends.”

“I—what?” Haruhi felt blood rising to her face. She hastily added, “What do you mean, ‘were’?”

The Inspector ignored her again. “Were you ever in any way romantically involved with Hitachiin Hikaru?”

“No!” Haruhi was furious with herself for blushing. “We weren’t—aren’t—we went out on a date, once, and we were going to again, but we didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Is that really relevant?”

“Answer the question, Ms. Fujioka.” Haruhi didn’t say anything. “Is it because Hitachiin Hikaru was shot and presumed dead?” Haruhi’s eyes widened. The Inspector made a note. “What is your knowledge about the current whereabouts of Hitachiin Hikaru?”

“I—don’t—Kaoru was the one presumed dead,” Haruhi spluttered, flustered. _Kaoru, I’m going to kill you for getting me into this._

“Is that your personal belief?”

“What?”

The Inspector set down his pen loudly. “Ms. Fujioka, which twin do you believe was shot and killed on the evening of April 22nd, at 5:40 pm, Eastern Time?”

Haruhi stared at him. _Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic._ She said very softly, “I want to call my lawyer now.”

The Inspector gave her a hard look. “Are you sure? You don’t seem like someone who would wish to incur those costs needlessly.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Haruhi came very close to bellowing. It was the tone of voice she used to send the Host Members (who would have just done something extraordinarily offensive) scurrying into corners, spouting apologies and offering payment in varying forms of affection and money.

“Very well.” He stood up. “We will allow you the use of our telephone. If you will follow me…”

Haruhi followed, fuming. Her anger cleared her head. She called her lawyer first, but she made an equally important second phone call. She used the number given to her “strictly for emergencies.” Why he bothered two numbers, she didn’t know – especially since Tamaki abused the heck out of the “emergency” number, and the twins knew the only good use for an emergency telephone number was to prank-call it constantly. But she had never called it before, and that was probably why Kyoya picked up immediately.

“Haruhi, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been arrested, Senpei. The police seem to think I’m involved with the shooting.”

“All right. Where are you?” Kyoya sounded bored, if the slightest bit irritated. Haruhi gave the street name. “Who arrested you?” She gave the Inspector’s name. “I’ll see what I can do. Stay there and don’t answer any incriminating questions.”

“I _know,_ Senpei.”

A policewoman took her to a holding cell in an office. Haruhi swallowed the indignity and sat down on the edge of the bench as the doors slid shut. A different, unfamiliar detective sat at his desk, tapping away on his computer and scribbling down notes on forms. As time slid by, and the light changed outside, she wondered if it had been a mistake to not call her dad. They didn’t have a reason to keep her – she would be free in 48 hours anyway—but she hadn’t really expected them to not let her go almost immediately.

_Where’s my lawyer?_

She stood up. “Excuse me—” she began, but at that moment the door swung open.

“Someone to see you,” said the policewoman from earlier. A small group of uniformed officers crowded behind her, looking curious. She was speaking to the detective.

“Who?” the detective looked startled. “I’m not expect—”

A tall form pushed through the crowd. Haruhi bit down on her tongue to keep from making a surprised sound. Kyoya stepped up to the desk.

“Hello,” he said calmly to the detective, who looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “I am Kyoya Ootori. I’ve come to see about Haruhi Fujioka.” He held out a sealed envelope.

The detective took the envelope, opened it, and pulled out several sheets of thick, official yellow paper. He scanned it briefly, then looked back up. “Haruhi Fujioka is in the custody of Detective-Inspector Komatsu. You’ll have to speak to him.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Fujioka is in your office, in your custody,” said Kyoya, still calmly.

“Only because Komatsu doesn’t have a holding cell,” said the officer, equally calmly. He pushed the papers back towards Kyoya, but Kyoya didn’t take them. “He’s got a private office. Take it up with him.”

“I would love to. Unfortunately, Komatsu has stepped out,” said Kyoya. “And nobody seems certain how to contact him. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

“No.”

“So, let me make sure I am understanding you.” Kyoya placed one hand on the desk, leaning against it. His glasses flashed. “Your Detective-Inspector has arrested a young woman without a scrap of evidence of the frankly quite ludicrous charges he is using as an excuse, interrogated her without giving her the opportunity to call a lawyer, then throws her in a holding cell without authorization and promptly disappears when a directive commanding her release arrives? Do I understand you?”

“No,” said the officer. “Komatsu is the head of the operation investigating the murder of Kaoru Hitachiin. He has been granted special privileges to pursue every possibility.”

“Oh, and I suppose these special privileges elevate him above the law?” said Kyoya. He placed both hands on the desk, his voice ominously light and unconcerned. “And they allow him AND his inferiors to disobey a direct court order?” The officer blinked at him, and his eyes narrowed. “Have you been granted these god-like privileges, officer?”

The officer’s lips worked in and out for a moment. “No sir,” he said at last. He jerked his thumb in Haruhi’s direction and muttered to the policewoman, “Let her out.”

The policewoman obediently went to the holding cell and unlocked the doors, sliding them back. Kyoya straightened, glancing at the crowd of curious officers. "One of you, get Ms. Fujioka’s personal effects. Now.”

The crowd scattered. Kyoya glanced at Haruhi, nodded very slightly, and they both exited the building. “Get in the car,” said Kyoya softly, and Haruhi jumped into backseat before Kyoya slid in beside her and shut the door. “Suoh secondary mansion,” he told the driver.

“How did you get a court order?” Haruhi demanded as they pulled out of the station. The sun was beginning to sit

Kyoya arched an eyebrow and his answer did not match the question. “After receiving your call, I made several others, two of which pertain to you directly. I called your lawyer and prevented him from coming in, he would have only complicated the matter. Then I called your father and told him you would be working overnight on a Host Club project.”

“What—” began Haruhi.

“Shh,” said Kyoya, with a glance at the driver. Only after they arrived at Tamaki’s mansion and were alone on the path did Kyoya explain, speaking quickly and quietly as they went to the front doors. “I have discovered the cat hiding in the bag, so to speak. There is something highly suspicious going on at the Hitachiins. They likely now know that Hikaru is actually Kaoru. It is also very likely that Kaoru is no longer at the mansion.”

“What—” began Haruhi.

“Shh,” said Kyoya again, and she fell silent. “We must not jump to conclusions, but it’s likely that wherever Kaoru is, he was taken by hostiles.”

Haruhi felt sick. “That doesn’t mean…he’s dead too, does it?”

Kyoya glanced at her, but he didn’t shush her again. “Perhaps. But either he has been taken, dead or alive, or he has run away from home, which I suppose may be more likely.”

“I don’t think so,” said Haruhi, her heart pounding. For some reason, she didn’t feel surprised that Kaoru was missing. Perhaps it was just too shocking, just too ludicrous.

“As has been suspected ever since Hikaru was killed,” he continued as they mounted the front steps. “Whoever killed Hikaru probably intended to take them both. It appears that now, they have.”

“So what are we doing here?” Haruhi asked. “Why did you tell my dad—”

“—that you were going to work on Host Club activities?” Kyoya finished for her. “Because you are, Haruhi.” He turned and looked back across the lawn. Haruhi did also, her stomach giving an unpleasant lurch as she looked and saw two other figures coming towards them, barely visible in the twilight: one small and running—bounding, almost—across the grass, and one tall, giving the illusion of moving more slowly but his much longer legs allowing him to keep up easily. There was something very, very wrong. “Unfortunately –for reasons I will explain inside—there are very few people we can trust right now, the remaining Hitachiins and the police force included. Consider this your new occupation. We are going to find Kaoru.”


	13. The General and His Battle Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kyoya is a badass, Tamaki is a sweetheart, Haruhi is unreasonably stubborn and over-confident, and I pretend to know more than I actually do about deadly injuries and sniper rifles. Oh, and in case you're like me and you tend to forget the names of characters, Shiro is the "naughty type" elementary school student from the series, though he's older now.

“Hikaru! Wake up, Hikaru! _Hikaru!_ ”

Hikaru forced his eyes open as pain wound its way through his shoulder. Light stabbed his retinas; Kaoru’s hands were on his shoulders and he was shaking him.

“Hregh—umph—whazrong, Kao?” Hikaru lifted up a hand to shield his eyes form the light. Kaoru stared at him, the whites of his eyes visible around his pupils.

“Sit up. Hikaru, _sit up_.”

“All right, all right, hold up—” Hikaru kicked back the blankets and pushed himself into a sitting position. Kaoru’s hands turned to talons, clawing at his back, pulling up his pajama top. “Kaoru, calm down! What’s wrong?”

Kaoru didn’t answer, breathing hard. Hikaru bowed his head and pulled off his shirt. Kaoru’s fingers went down his back, sending goosebumps up his spine. They fingered the bandages.

“If you pull those off Kendra’ll have a fit,” Hikaru warned, but Kaoru didn’t. Instead a single fingertip came to rest just below his right shoulder blade. Kaoru’s breathing slowed and he sighed. “What?”

“You have a freckle just there,” said Kaoru, patiently, as if it were Hikaru who had been freaking out a moment ago.

“What?” Hikaru pulled down his shoulder and twisted his head, trying fruitlessly to see. “No I don’t. Our skin is perfect.”

“Yes you do,” said Kaoru. “Remember we went to that resort over Christmas? You forgot sunscreen.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Hikaru exclaimed. “I was only out there for ten minutes!”

“Well, now you have a freckle,” said Kaoru, stabbing at the place again. “I noticed it the next day.”

“Ow! Okay, fine, I have a freckle,” said Hikaru shortly. “Can I put my shirt back on now?” Kaoru scooted backwards and Hikaru redressed. Hikaru turned and scrutinized him. “Does it matter?”

Kaoru blinked at him. “No,” he said, sounding surprised. “We’re not identical anymore anyway, with your shoulder. It’ll scar, won’t it?”

“Yeah,” Hikaru sighed. “But I can cover it up at least.” He frowned. “If it doesn’t matter, how come you woke me up in the middle of the night?” Kaoru’s gaze dropped and he rubbed the back of his neck, not answering. “Kaoru, why did you wake me up?”

But Kaoru’s lips flattened, arms crossed and pressed to his stomach, and he lay back down with his face turned away. Hikaru sighed, reaching up and turning the light off again. The moment he settled back down himself, Kaoru turned, wrapping both arms around his torso and pressed his face against his right shoulder. Now wide awake, Hikaru lay staring up into dark space, keeping his good arm around Kaoru, and listening to his brother’s deep breathing as Kaoru fell back asleep.

*

Tamaki was white as a sheet, but he was surprisingly collected as he welcomed Kyoya, Haruhi, Honey, and Mori, shooing them into a sitting room pre-prepared with sandwiches and hot drinks, and then locking the servants out. Kasanoda was already there, dressed in street clothes and looking fierce, his red hair tied back into a sloppy ponytail. And so was – Haruhi stopped, obviously surprised.

“Shiro? What are you doing here?”

The junior-high "naughty type" student gave a bored wave, mouth full of sandwich. He swallowed, “Kyoya-senpei called me.” Haruhi gave Kyoya an inquisitive look. Kyoya adjusted his glasses.

“Shiro has been a regular guest-host for the past two years, he is trustworthy. And we need all of the resources we can get.”

Kasanoda scowled, which merely meant he was curious, not that he was angry. “So where’s Renge?”

Kyoya coughed. “Ms. Houshakuji is currently vising her father in France, I saw no need to request she make the long trip back. And as I work closely with her father, she most likely does not have access to information that I do not already know.” He turned. “Tamaki, I trust this room is truly private?”

Tamaki nodded solemnly, standing with his back pressed to the door as if guarding it. “I had all security cameras removed as soon as you called, Kyoya.” That wasn’t quite true. As soon as Kyoya had called, Tamaki had freaked out, and it had taken a personal one-hour personal visit from his best friend just to calm him down. But Kyoya nodded in approval.

“Excellent.” Kyoya moved to the front of the room and stood behind the low snack table, arms behind his back. “Now, I expect you all to keep everything that is said in this room completely secret. I don’t want you speaking to your other friends, your parents, even your own security forces if you have them,” he glanced at Haruhi, who raised an eyebrow. “The only people with whom you may share the information given in this room are the people currently in this room. Is that understood? If you feel you can’t do that, you are free to leave now.” He waited. Nobody moved. “I also feel compelled to warn you that if you share information I have the resources to sue you for everything you’re worth for breaches of confidentiality.” Nobody looked surprised, and still nobody moved. This was typical Kyoya. “All right then, I’ll start from the beginning, covering everything we know since April 22nd.”

“Is that the day Hikaru was shot?” interrupted Shiro, grabbing another sandwich from the platter.

Kyoya glanced at him in disapproval. Shiro looked slightly abashed. “Yes, 5:40pm Eastern Standard Time,” Kyoya confirmed. “Over here it was April 23rd, 6:40am.” He continued, “As you may know, Hikaru was shot in a public area, in a crowded street where a cultural festival and parade was ongoing. He left to purchase ice cream, and witnesses testified that when he returned, he was violently pushing his way through the crowd, yelling at Kaoru to get down. He—that is, Hikaru—reached Kaoru and knocked him to the ground, and was allegedly shot in the shoulder the same moment.”

“Allegedly?” interrupted Shiro again.

Kyoya put his hands in his pockets and glared at him. “According to Kaoru, and the bodyguard that subsequently pulled Kaoru away,” he said coldly.

Shiro slouched in his seat. Tamaki dabbed his eyes with a Kleenex, then walked away from the door to hand the box to Haruhi before returning to his post. Haruhi’s face was stoic, but she took the box politely.

“The shooter to date has not been found. We can deduce from the evidence that Hikaru was somehow warned beforehand of the shooting, and either Kaoru or both Hikaru and Kaoru were the targets. As only Hikaru was shot, and no members of the surrounding crowd, his murder was classified as a successful, well-planned assassination. That concludes what is well known.” Kyoya walked to a side-table and picked up the iPad that was lying there. “What is less well known is that Hikaru and Kaoru were not meant to be at the festival at all. They snuck out of the hotel without their parents’ knowledge or permission and convinced one of their temporary American bodyguards to drive them: Fernando Ramirez.” He pulled up a photograph of the bodyguard and turned it around. “He reported to one other person – his shift manager—and was granted permission to leave the premises.”

“So he’s our man?” interrupted Shiro.

Kyoya gave him his most deathly glare yet, and Tamaki interfered, and his voice held the closest tones Tamaki ever had to anger. “Shiro, I know you’re just as worried as the rest of us, but you must stop interrupting Kyoya. This is important.” Shiro scowled, but his respect for Tamaki was even more massive than his respect for Kyoya, so he folded his arms and became silent again.

“Ramirez allegedly remained at the festival the rest of the day, keeping an eye on the twins but not interfering in their activities in any way. He arrived on the scene immediately after Hikaru was shot and, as Kaoru attests, is the one directly responsible for getting him away from the scene and safely into an armored car that took him back to the hotel.” Kyoya hesitated a moment, then said very quietly, “According to the autopsy report, the bullet partially severed Hikaru’s subclavian artery. This is extremely difficult to hit, but deadly if successfully severed. Official time of death was 5:43pm.” He let that sink in a moment. The various club members stared at the ground or into space. Honey rubbed an eye and leaned against Mori. Kyoya continued briskly, “That quick of a death is rare, but possible. The bullet was analyzed and determined to be from a Barrett M98B—a sniper rifle, essentially—confirming the nature of the murder as an assassination. Considering that Hikaru knocked Kaoru out of the way, and assuming that the assassin was originally aiming for Kaoru, his aim is either extraordinarily good – or Hikaru was simply extraordinarily unlucky.” Kyoya scrolled through his notes. The screen reflected on his glasses.

“Those are the known facts about the murder itself. There are several unsettling elements about this official story, however. First, and most obviously, how did the assassin know where Kaoru and Hikaru were going to be? The first suspect is, of course, Fernando Ramirez, but no evidence other than circumstantial evidence has been found against him, so he has been cleared for the time being. Additionally, if Ramirez is involved, why would he rescue Kaoru? More importantly, perhaps, why were Kaoru and Hikaru targeted at all? They are important only in that they are the children of a very influential couple, but they are heavily guarded and it seems incredibly unlikely that the assassin could count on them at any point being separated from security. That seems to have been done entirely independently by the twins. Additionally, there has been no sight or sound of the assassin, no clear gain, no clear benefits to any party. Another unsettling matter is the disposal of Hikaru’s body. It was cremated without approval by either the Hitachiins or the department head. Incompetence has been where the blame is placed – multiple underlings in the American police department were fired. A rather hefty sum was given to the Hitachiins as an apology.

“That brings us up to what happened late last night. As you all know, Kaoru took on Hikaru’s identity. He caused trouble at Hikaru’s funeral, which was directly related to why he was banned from leaving the premises—though,” he added, as Shiro opened his mouth to protest, “The official story is that it was for his own protection. Last night, around sunset, Kaoru appeared at one of the side-gates and bribed a guard—Haruto Sato—to let him out. According to Sato, Kaoru was limping and looked, quote, ‘disheveled.’ That is the last known report of him. Haruhi was arrested this afternoon, at approximately 4:00pm, outside of the Hitachiin mansion, apparently on suspicion of aiding and abetting Hikaru’s murderer. However,” Kyoya glanced at Tamaki as he let out an indignant gasp. “I believe her arrest had very little to do with Hikaru’s murder, and much more to do with the fact that Kaoru had disappeared and has been impersonating Hikaru. Yes,” he said in response to Honey opening his mouth. “I believe the Hitachiins know that Kaoru was impersonating Hikaru. A press release from Kaoru’s email account has hit the media with that very statement. That occurred a little over an hour ago. It is my guess that he told them last night, and their reactions may have been what prompted him to leave.” He paused.

“So he’s not dead?” Haruhi asked. Kyoya noted that she was very pale. “His parents wouldn’t have sent that email, would they?”

“There are three possibilities,” said Kyoya. “Either Kaoru sent the email himself – which probably means he is simply in hiding—or else someone is impersonating him, or else he used a program to delay sending an email that he wrote last night before leaving the mansion. I think the latter is most likely, considering he was seen leaving the mansion approximately 24-hours before the email was sent.”

Tamaki stared at Kyoya. “How long did it take you to find all this out?”

“Yeah,” said Honey. “How do you know?” The other hosts looked at him expectantly, clearly also wanting to know the answer. There was no suspicion or doubt in their faces, just intense curiosity.

“The Hitachiins have hired a special force to investigate the death of Hikaru,” said Kyoya. “As I work closely with Mr. Hitachiin, he asked for assistance from the Ootori force, which I provided. I have been able to gain access this way, and I have been keeping watch from the beginning.”

“Wow,” said Shiro. “That is some serious sleuthing.” Kyoya allowed himself the smallest of grim smiles that held no mirth nor pride.

“Hold on!” cried Tamaki suddenly. “You’ve been suspicious from the beginning? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I had no proof, only suspicions,” said Kyoya calmly. “I had no reasons to think the matter was not being handled appropriately or that Kaoru was in any immediate danger. But now with Kaoru’s disappearance—which Haruhi says is most likely non-voluntary…”

Everyone looked at Haruhi. She was still very pale, but she nodded. “Kaoru was getting better. He wouldn’t have disappeared like this without telling anybody. Not when he was just starting to get back into the world.”

Shiro demanded, “So why aren’t we allowed to tell anybody any of this?”

“Because,” Kyoya repeated. “With Kaoru’s disappearance, and with Haruhi’s baseless arrest, and with the very strange circumstances of Hikaru’s murder, we have every reason to believe that there is someone within the system that is involved.”

“You’re saying it’s an inside job,” Haruhi translated.

Kyoya nodded. “I don’t know how inside, and I don’t know how many. I only know that somewhere there has been a massive cover-up. And unfortunately, now that I’ve taken Inspector Komatsu’s hostage out from under his nose—”

“How did you do that, by the way? Court orders don’t just drop out of the sky,” Haruhi interrupted. Kyoya ignored her.

“—he will not be very friendly towards me nor as willing to share information.”

“You should have just left me there,” said Haruhi. “He would have had to release me after 48 hours anyway.”

Tamaki, leaning against the closed door, vigorously shook his head. “We couldn’t just leave you there—Kyoya was absolutely right—” but it was Kyoya’s surprisingly harsh voice that put down Haruhi’s protests.

“Absolutely not!” Kyoya folded his arms as the hosts stared at him in surprise. “You don’t seem to understand, Haruhi. Someone within the system is working the system to keep from being found. They could be trying to place the blame on anyone. They could be planting evidence. They could be weeding out anybody who knows the truth. If I had left you in that cell overnight, you might not have been there in the morning.”

Kasanoda’s, Honey’s, and Tamaki’s mouths all dropped open. Haruhi looked incredulous. “How do you know? Is Inspector Komatsu behind this or—”

“I don’t know, Haruhi. That’s the point. I don’t know anything.” Kyoya regained his composure and let his arms drop. “In fact, I would be most comfortable if you did not go home at all, and instead stayed over in one of our homes.”

Tamai’s eyes brightened. “Haruhi, you’re more than welcome to—”

“No,” said Haruhi flatly.

Kyoya looked at her sternly. “You could be in danger. The rest of us are not as appetizing a target as you. We have money, bodyguards, legal influence—”

“I’m not going to leave my dad alone,” said Haruhi. “And we’re not moving out of our apartment. I can take care of myself, and my dad isn’t a target.”

Kyoya was silent for a moment, then shrugged. He looked down at the iPad. “Here is what we need to do—”

“Kyoya!” protested Tamaki. “You can’t just let her have her way like that!”

“No,” said Kyoya. “But I’m not going to argue the point at the moment. Now, Mori, Honey—”

“Yes, sir!” Honey sprang to attention and saluted.

Kyoya blinked. “I want you to investigate the personal bodyguards employed by the Hitachiin family in the past year, both here and in America and anywhere else. Use your connections with other martial arts experts to find the identities of every single trained employee. Once you have the identities, if you need access to their personal files, send the list to me.”

“How will you have access to their personal files?” asked Haruhi.

Kyoya ignored her again. “Tamaki,” Tamaki straightened. “I want you to investigate any and all bigwigs that might have a reason to want Kaoru or Hikaru or both of the twins dead, kidnapped, or incapacitated in any way. No reason is too outrageous. Money, power, personal revenge, any ideas you have connected with any influential figure anywhere in the world. Understand?” Tamaki nodded without saying anything, lips set in a grim line. “Shiro, your mother owns an employment agency for immigrants and guest workers, doesn’t she?”

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “You’re Kyoya, you obviously already know. Is that why you invited me? Because my mother’s useful?”

“Naturally,” said Kyoya without shame. Shiro shrugged, not looking in the least bit offended. “Like Mori and Honey, I want you to use your mother’s connections to investigate the other employees of the Hitachiin household in the past year. Housekeeping, gardeners, chefs, everyone.”

“They’re not all immigrants,” said Shiro.

“Of course not. But your mother’s employment agency should have contacts with other employment agencies for non-immigrants. Look into it. And if you need help gaining access to personal files, send me the list.” Kyoya lowered the iPad.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Haruhi.

“Assuming you haven’t been added to our ‘missing persons’ list by tomorrow morning,” said Kyoya dryly, “I want you to write down everything the guards at Hitachiin Mansion said to you, everything you heard the guards and Inspector Komatsu say to anyone around you, everything you heard police officers say, every question they asked you. And then I want you to filter Tamaki’s list for me, ruling out anything that belongs in a very badly written thriller.” Kyoya glanced at his watch. “As for me, I’ll be doing everything that is too sensitive for the rest of you.”

“Wow,” said Honey to Mori, loud enough that everyone heard him. “It’s like Kyoya is a general drawing up a battle plan.”

Kyoya cleared his throat. “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” said Kasanoda. “You didn’t give me a job.”

“I’ll give you yours after the others have left,” said Kyoya smoothly. The hosts again all looked surprised. Kasanoda looked nervous. “No questions? Then this meeting is adjourned. Remember, do not tell anyone what you are doing. If you feel like someone absolutely must know, ask me for permission first. Understood?” Everyone nodded. “All right. Now please leave the room so I can talk to Kasanoda alone.” The hosts obediently filtered out of the room, muttering goodbyes to each other. Tamaki glanced back three or four times before shutting the door and leaving them alone. Kyoya turned to Kasanoda, who was looking even more nervous. “I want you to appoint members of your family to tail Haurhi at all times.”

Kasanoda blinked, and the tension left his face. “Oh,” he said, then frowned. “So you’re not worried about us – or some of us – being, uh, involved? I mean, we're organized crime - ”

“Not at all,” said Kyoya. “Unless you are the bigwigs yourselves—which I find extraordinarily unlikely—your family is too big, too well-connected, and too well-protected to be involved. With an operation this well-planned, the ones in charge will need to use pawns who are powerless to stand up to them. They can’t be mercenaries—mercenaries can be bribed—and they can’t be powerful—the powerful can all too easily find protection elsewhere. They will only be using people who are either bound by extreme loyalty, blackmail, or deadly threats. Members of your family can’t be controlled by any of these measures.”

Kasanoda relaxed. “Makes sense. You’re really good at this, you know that?”

“A large portion of my job requires thinking like a criminal,” said Kyoya vaguely. “Can you do that?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Kasanoda. “But I can’t tell them why they’re tailing Haruhi, right?”

“Correct. Make up whatever story you like.”

Kasanoda shrugged. “I’ll just ask them to do it as a personal favor. They won’t ask questions.”

Kyoya nodded. “Good. Now, Haruhi will probably realize within 48 hours that she is being followed, so tell them to be prepared when she tries to lose them, and then be prepared with an explanation when she attempts to call the police – or to have a very good excuse when they are accosted by the police if they fail to stop her from calling.”

Kasanoda waved a hand. “Easy, no problem.”

“Good.” Kyoya looked at his watch again. He was expecting a phone call. Kasanoda took the hint and left the room. Kyoya poked his head out and addressed Tamaki who was lingering by the door. “Do you mind if I use this room for thirty minutes or so?”

“Of course not,” said Tamaki. “Do you need anything?”

“Just thirty minutes to myself,” said Kyoya.

“You got it.” Tamaki started down the hallway. “I’ll get to work on that list.” Kyoya started to shut the door, but Tamaki’s voice followed him timidly. “Kyoya?” He looked back out, and Tamaki’s face was going through various contortions as he tremulously asked, “Do you really think there’s a chance Kaoru is still alive?”

He could have said a million things that would have conveyed the truth more accurately—yes there was a chance, but it was slim—what they were really looking for was a motive—most likely, the only thing they would accomplish (with anything) was identifying a motive, and if they could manage to work the legal system, perhaps even get some justice for Hikaru’s and Kaoru's murders. And all of these things were extraordinarily unlikely, even with his connections. But Kyoya, looking into Tamaki’s agonized face, said none of these things. His expression softened. “Yes, Tamaki, I really do.” As miniscule as it was, there was a chance.

Tamaki pulled himself together and took a deep breath. “Right then. No more dawdling. Kaoru’s counting on us.” And with that, he whirled and marched down the length of the hallway with his head held high.


	14. It's All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses Their Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #UnintentionalTaylorSwiftQuote

By day four, Kaoru had abandoned the game, taking up instead the notebook and pen. He worked on the old Sudoku puzzles that Hikaru had abandoned while Hikaru silently took back the game. He sat on the opposite end of the bed facing Kaoru, noting with irritation that his twin had indeed outscored him on multiple levels. Hikaru glanced up from time to time as Kaoru scribbled in the pages. At least he was awake. He’d already taken three long naps today.

Dinner, uneaten, lay on the tray near Kaoru’s curled toes. Hikaru cleared his throat. “You hungry?”

“No,” said Kaoru shortly, and it was a relief to hear his voice. Kaoru’s gaze remained fixed on the page as his pen flew back and forth across the paper.

“You didn’t eat lunch either,” Hikaru prodded. Kaoru hesitated, gaze flickering briefly above the notebook, then he brought his knees up until the book was nearly touching his nose as he went back to scribbling. “You sure?”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself then.” Hikaru reached for the abandoned sandwich. Kaoru’s foot struck out, knocking his hand away. “Ouch!” Hikaru shook his fingers. “What was that for?”

“Don’t eat that,” said Kaoru.

“Why, you’ll get hungry later?”

“No.” Kaoru turned a page in the notebook.

“Then don’t be a spoilsport,” he reached out again. Kaoru leaned over and struck the back of his hand with his pen, making Hikaru yelp.

“Don’t eat it, Hikaru!”

Hikaru massaged his hand, heart pounding fit to burst. “What’s the matter, are you sick?”

Kaoru retreated back behind his notebook. “Just don’t eat it, okay?”

“Okay.” Hikaru tried three more times to pass the next level, but he kept dying because he continued to glance up, trying to catch glimpses of something in Kaoru’s face that would explain his outbursts. At last he gave up, tossing the game to the side. “Say,” he said as casually as he could. “What was the other night about?”

“What do you mean?” Kaoru frowned at his page, biting the end of the pen.

“You made me take my shirt off.”

“So?” Kaoru turned another page.

“So?” Hikaru repeated, incredulously. “That doesn’t strike you as weird?”

“You never wear shirts at nighttime at home,” said Kaoru, finally glancing up at him, an accusatory glint in his eyes.

“Well, no, but our bedroom’s kept like fifteen degrees warmer.” Hikaru ran his fingers through his hair. Emboldened by the lack of Kaoru’s new trapped-animal-about-to-keel-over-in-fright expression, he added, “Don’t change the subject.”

Kaoru hunched his shoulders, his gaze returning to the notebook, but his pen did not resume scratching. “I had a nightmare,” he said, in a tone too casual to be genuine.

Hikaru blinked. “A nightmare,” he repeated, “…that required making me take my shirt off?”

“I had to make sure you were there,” Kaoru snapped, turning the page in the notebook so violently it tore down the middle. He swore.

Hikaru wrapped his arms around his knees and studied him. “What does that have to do with my shirt?”

“Nothing,” said Kaoru immediately. He held his pen so tightly his knuckles whitened. His hands were shaking and his eyes looked like they were going to burn holes through the paper. He swore again. “Hikaru, I was scared, I was half-asleep, it doesn’t matter.”

HIkaru licked his lips. “You didn’t look half asleep.”

“Well, I _felt_ half-asleep, dammit!”

_He’s still scared._ The pit of Hikaru’s stomach dropped. _He’s scared to death._ Hikaru stood up and walked to the head of the bed. “Scoot over.” He nudged Kaoru’s shoulder, and when Kaoru didn’t move he sat down anyway.

“Get off,” Kaoru muttered.

“No.”

Kaoru lurched to the side and jumped off of the bed. Hikaru grabbed at him—unfortunately with his left hand, which wrenched his shoulder in his socket and launched reflexive tears into his eyes as Kaoru tried to pull his wrist away.

“Let _go!_ ”

“Nuh-uh,” said Hikaru, ignoring the incessant pounding. “C’mere.”

“No.”

Hikaru raised his voice. “Kaoru, sit down.” Kaoru swayed back and forth for a moment before stiffly obeying. Hikaru hugged his brother close to him. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Kaoru said nothing. “Okay, then.” As had happened multiple times for the past week, Hikaru sat silently, staring into space, mind racing, while Kaoru slowly relaxed into him. Hikaru glanced at his face. Kaoru’s eyes were closed, head tilted back and resting against the wall. Hikaru extracted himself and slid off the bed. Kaoru’s eyes cracked blearily, but he simply lay down and curled up, closing them again.

Hikaru paced the room, feeling concrete through the thin carpet beneath his bare feet. Kaoru shifted occasionally, but eventually he stopped moving and his breaths grew deep and even. Hikaru ran his hands through his unruly hair, not seeing the room, thoughts whirling.

Not eating, having nightmares, sleeping all day, irritable, silent, unpredictable, drugged with an unknown substance—

The door clicked, then opened. Hikaru pounced on Kendra, making her jerk back in surprise. Hikaru smashed a finger against her lips as she started to speak. “Shhh!” He pointed to Kaoru’s limp form.

“What, don’t wake sleeping beauty?” Kendra asked dryly, only a little more quietly than normal. “What if I’d screamed when you jumped me?”

Hikaru ignored the sarcasm. “You have to look at him,” he whispered. Kendra walked behind Hikaru and tugged on his sleeve. Hikaru obediently pulled his shirt over his head. “There’s something wrong with him.”

“Be more specific, hotshot.” She was still not whispering.

“Shh!” Hikaru glanced towards the bed, but Kaoru appeared to be asleep still. Hikaru practically heard Kendra raise her eyebrows as her fingers began their prodding path across his shoulder.

“You’ll remember he didn’t want me to touch him,” she said, slightly quieter. “I’m not a mind-reader.”

“He’s not sick,” Hikaru explained. “He’s not…right.”

“Thanks, that clears it right up.”

Hikaru licked his lips. “He’s having nightmares—”

“Understandable, given the circumstances.”

Hikaru pressed on, speaking quickly, desperate for her to understand. “He’s erratic, he’s unpredictable, he’s acting weird. He yelled at me earlier, he hit me – he never loses his temper. He yells at me when I need it, but never because he can’t control himself – I’m the immature one, not him—and he never hits me—”

“Domestic violence is pretty serious,” said Kendra gravely. “Do you two need marriage counseling?”

 Hikaru wrenched away from her hands and whirled around to face her. She arched an eyebrow. “This is serious!” he spat. “You’re not listening, he’s not himself!”

“No, of course he’s not.” Hikaru spluttered, too angry for intelligible speech. Kendra held up a hand and the sarcasm left her face. “Look, Hikaru, I would be more worried if Kaoru was exactly as you remember him. Grief changes people. You two are obviously very close. Kaoru’s been through two very nasty shocks—you being dead, you being alive—and that’s not even mentioning the fact that neither of you know where you are or what’s going to be done with you. Kaoru just needs time.”

Hikaru glared at her, wishing he was taller. One more inch or so and he could glare down his nose at her. As it was, he could only glare across. “Not like this,” he insisted. “I know him. I know what he’s like. Do you think our life’s been a piece of cake? We’ve been through hell. I know what he’s like. You people drugged him—”

“Oh for God’s sake, it’s not the drug!” Kendra exclaimed. Kaoru stirred. They both stopped and looked at the bed. Kendra shook her head and reached into her bag, pulling out the stretchy KT tape for his shoulder.

“I’m good,” Hikaru muttered, shaking her off and walking away. “Don’t need it.”

“Get back here, yes you do.”

“Bull.” Hikaru had no idea if he needed it or not, but he got a vindictive pleasure from Kendra’s frustration. If she didn’t listen to him, he wouldn’t listen to her.

“Hikaru!” Her voice rose in pitch. He glanced over his shoulder. “It still needs support.”

“Feels fine,” said Hikaru, turning away again. The next instant, Kendra’s fingers clamped painfully around his wrist.

“Hikaru.” She’d gotten very quiet. Hikaru looked at her again, intending to shake her off, but stopped at the look of fear in her face. She stared into his eyes for several long, uncomfortable seconds, and then said calmly, “You still need it.”

“…okay,” Hikaru said, grudgingly giving in. He didn’t need it, he knew for certain now. Kendra, the horrible liar, was lying. But he wasn’t convinced that he was the one she was lying to. He let her rewrap him. Neither of them said a word until Hikaru was tugging his shirt over his head again and Kendra was at the door.

“Hikaru,” she said, glancing between him and the still-slumbering Kaoru. “Kaoru will be fine.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she shook her head and left without speaking again.

*

The notebook became my lifeline. I moved quickly from Sudoku to crossword and scrambles, thinking syntax, conjugations, spelling, English, French—then Hikaru would break through my concentration, speaking lightly or making a joke. It infuriated me, and I hated that it made me so angry—it wasn’t his fault—but I just needed to concentrate—couldn’t think—shouldn’t he know that? _Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think…_ pages upon pages upon pages upon pages.

I didn’t like waking up, because that was the time when I thought involuntarily. Sleeping was fine, for the most part. Falling asleep was the best. But waking up was horrible. It started with the faint feeling that something was wrong. There was an exam today, or there had been a terrorist attack, or Auntie was coming to visit –and then my brain would click into gear and I would remember with a pain like my guts were being ripped out. Hikaru was dead. Then I would remember with an equally horrible jolt that Hikaru was still alive—or wasn’t he? Had I dreamed the entire mad situation? Had I dreamed only Hikaru’s return? Was I going insane?

I usually bolted upright at this point, in a cold sweat, heart trying to tear its way out of my chest—either waking Hikaru up with my movement, or getting a quiet look from him if he was sitting on the other bed.

A flash of pain shot through my head. I put down the notebook and pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes.

“You okay?” Hikaru asked, predictably. He asked me multiple times a day. I didn’t know how to respond. _No, Hikaru, I’m not okay._ But then he’d ask why, and I wouldn’t know what to say. _Oh, no reason, except I’m completely petrified._

The door opened briefly and closed. I heard Hikaru moving. “Hungry?” I shook my head, biting the inside of my lip as the pain got worse. “Well you’re going to have to eat something anyway. I’m not eating until you do.” I lowered my hands and glared up at him as he stood beside me holding lunch. “Look, it’s even hot today. They’re spoiling us.” He sat down in front of me, and on the tray were two sets of rice, chicken soup, and even salad.

“That looks like a school lunch,” I said, forgetting myself in my amazement. Even school lunches, compared to the picnic-style stuff we’d been getting all week, looked like a banquet.

“Crazy, right? Catch,” he tossed me one pair of plain wooden chopsticks. I turned them over in my hands, frowning. Hikaru laughed. “They’re disposable. Kendra laughed at me when I asked her about them after getting them for the first time. Don’t worry, they look like a death trap but they won’t give you splinters.”

I broke them apart, still frowning. “Commoner thinking again?”

Hikaru made an affirmative noise in his throat, then hummed tunelessly as he scraped some of the rice into his soup. I watched him do it, an uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Eat,” said Hikaru. “I’m not taking a bite until you do.”

Feeling like I was watching from a great distance, I copied his own actions, my thoughts sluggishly connecting.

_This side meant for me, that side meant for him. This side for him, that side for me._ I felt a complete assurance that this had been planned this way. As certain as if our names had been branded on each side. The thought made me uncomfortable. I took a bite of plain rice (unseasoned, slightly chewy, not anywhere close to the quality I was used to, but—)

_That side for him, this side for me—_

Hikaru made no move to eat until I swallowed, then, humming again, he raised the food to his mouth—

_That side for him._

Clarity burst through my mind and I reacted. I struck the chopsticks from his hands with a choking gasp. “Don’t eat that!”

“What the—Kaoru!” Hikaru snorted in annoyance and glared at me. My chest heaved.

“Don’t eat it.”

“Why not?” Hikaru grumbled, picking up the chopsticks from where they’d landed on the rumpled sheets, putting the spilled rice on the tray to the side.

I stared at the food, my stomach rolling and feeling faint. “Here,” I said at last, and I picked up the tray and turned it around. “Take this side.”

Hikaru made no move to continue eating. I stared at Hikaru’s side, now in front of me, sweat making my shirt stick to my back. “What’s with you?” Hikaru asked.

_No, wait…_

Without looking into his face, I held out my own set of chopsticks. “You’d better take these, too,” I said, and when he made no move to do so I yanked the others from his hand and put my own down in front of him.

“Kaoru,” said Hikaru, the last vestiges of annoyance trickling out of his voice. I felt his worried gaze burning into my forehead. “They’re not going to poison us. Not after they took all the trouble to get us here and keep me alive.”

“But they have me now,” I mumbled.

“So?”

“They don’t need you anymore.”

“Kaoru, that makes no sense. They haven’t done anything with me yet.” I glowered. “Besides,” pleaded Hikaru. “Even if it is poisoned, what could we even do about it? A hunger strike?”

Another moment passed, and then Hikaru’s hand shot out. He grabbed a handful of the rice from his own bowl. I yelped and sprang forward. His hand collided with my chest. My foot knocked against the tray and I fell over the side of the bed, landing hard. I sat up, head spinning. I saw stars. Hikaru sat looking down at me, mouth full, white grains sticking to his fingers. He swallowed and spread his arms. “See? Not poisoned.”

The blackest sense of despair over took me. Why wouldn’t he listen to me? I _knew_ they were trying to poison him. I didn’t know how I knew but I _knew_. Why didn’t he believe me?

“Kaoru?”

I shook my head. Someone was trying to poison him. Or me. Both of us. Him, me, both. One of us, both of us, him or me. One of us was both of us, one and both, him and me, one—

“Kaoru!”

Hikaru grabbed my wrists, suddenly on the floor in front of me. I gasped.

His voice had gotten high. “Kaoru, snap out of it!”

I blinked, shuddered, my eyes focused. I realized only then that both of my hands were clamped around my ears as I shook my head back and forth. I lowered my hands. He released me and leaned back.

“Headache?” he asked, hopefully, voice shaking slightly. “We could ask Kendra for ibuprofen or something.”

_Ibuprofen._ That was it. I relaxed. “No, it’s fine.” We just didn’t have to take any of the pills she offered us, that would be it—I was on to them, now. “Sorry, our food’s getting cold.” I stood up and retrieved the tray. Hikaru stared at me with a frightened expression. “You’re right, it’s not poisoned.”

Hikaru nodded. Suddenly feeling famished, I ate every scrap on my side (which was Hikaru’s old side, but it didn’t matter). Hikaru seemed to have lost his appetite, and he shrugged and nodded when I asked if I could finish his portion. I thought carefully about my new knowledge. Did Hikaru take any medication? I couldn’t remember it. But I felt calmer; medication was easier to avoid. Especially as Hikaru was being so bone-headed about it. The thought of poison was terrifying. We both needed to avoid it. We both had to stay in this room. This room kept us alive. If I took it, I would fall asleep, I would die, or I would wake up and I would be back in the mansion, and Hikaru would be dead.  And if Hikaru took it – I shuddered again, involuntarily. I could imagine the surprised look on his face as he melted away from my fingers, leaving me here forever in this small room, alone and lonely and miserable and insane. And then what would happen? He would wake up in the mansion, and he would be me? Or would he really be Hikaru? Would he be Kaoru pretending to be Hikaru? Would I become Hikaru, staying here? Or would I be Kaoru pretending to be Hikaru and he would be Hikaru pretending to be Kaoru pretending to be Hikaru—he or me, him and me, both of us, one of us, one is both and both being one and the distinctions blurred—Hikaru was dead, I was Hikaru, I was Kaoru, both of us were one of us—

Blood rushed to my face and then drained and my heart pounding far too hard and my fingers shook. Hikaru peered at me, arms wrapped around one drawn-up knee. That bandage on his shoulder, the freckle on his back, he was _not_ me, I was _not_ him, we were we—

My mind felt like it was being split open, and then settled to rest. Panic flooded me and I shuddered. I realized I had been staring at him, so I looked away, and yawned, the hot food weighing me down.

“Tired?” asked Hikaru.

“That’s what people who yawn usually are, genius,” I said. He gave me a weak grin. I wished he would stop giving me the worried maternal look. Sometimes when he did it, I got the sickening feeling that an alien had crawled inside his skin and was watching me through his eyes. But at the moment, it was all normal.

“Me too,” he said, standing up. Without question, I stood up too, fighting and pushing back with all my might the barely-contained panic. As had become our custom, we squeezed onto the narrow bed, side-by-side, by necessity wrapping our limbs around each other to make room.

I didn’t like waking up, and sleeping only provided temporary relief. But falling asleep, with my head on Hikaru’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling warmth and calm seep through me, I was able to push back the terror. Because when it wasn’t fear of being poisoned or fear of disappearing forever, it was the completely rational, intrusive, mind-numbing mouth-drying thought that I couldn’t keep away:

_I’m losing it._

*

Anybody who entered the room who was not Kendra was not good news, Hikaru had informed me. So when a strange man and woman entered that were not Kendra as I exited the bathroom, still damp from showering, Hikaru put down Prisoner of Azkaban and demanded, “What do you want?”

“Your turn,” said the woman simply, looking at me, and an icy lump settled into my stomach.

Hikaru jumped up from the ground and stood beside me. “What for?” He asked. I grabbed his hand.

“None of your business,” the woman deadpanned. The man brushed past her, heading towards me. I couldn’t move. Hikaru stepped in front of me.

“I’m coming too.”

“No you’re not,” the man brushed him aside and grabbed my shoulder. I sucked in my breath and stumbled forward as he yanked me by my collar. I clamped onto HIkaru’s fingers.

“No!” The word burst out without me telling it to. “No, I’m not leaving.”

“Let me come with him!”

“You are,” said the man, still dragging me (and consequently, dragging Hikaru) to the door. The woman scowled.

“Let go of him, or I’ll cut your fingers off.” We both stared at her. She glared at Hikaru, took something out of her pocket, and with loud click a blade appeared between her fingers. Hikaru’s hand relaxed. I clamped harder, but he pulled away.

“Hikaru!” I gasped, fear and betrayal stabbing me.

“They’re only going to ask you questions,” said Hikaru quickly.

The woman stowed the switchblade back in her pocket and went to the door. After holding her ID to the frame it unlocked and she pulled it open.

Panic flew to my head and I shrieked. “ _Let me go!_ ” I kicked out, made contact with a thigh, twisting, and yanking.

“Stop it!” yelled the woman.

“Kaoru, it’s fine—” Hikaru said, sounding broken, but I almost didn’t hear him.

_Couldn’t leave the room, can’t leave the room, can’t leave the room—_

The room was keeping us alive. The room was where Hikaru existed. If either of us left we wouldn’t come back.

_“Hikaru!_ ” My feet slipped and then I was being dragged.

“Kaoru, I’ll be right here when you get back—don’t worry—Kaoru!”

“Stop it now!” yelled the woman.

The door slammed shut and I yelled wordlessly, flailing and scratching and punching. Then my left ear exploded and my head hit the ground. I saw sparks and whirling colors and feeling hot tears and tasting blood.

“Unbelievable!”

My vision blacked out. I choked and spluttered and spat. Coppery-tasting blood oozed down my chin. Then the hand, still grabbing my shirt, hauled me to my feet. I staggered, dazed, as the hand pulled me down the unseen hall.

“Good god, man, what did you do to him?”

“You saw, hit him upside the head,” grumbled the man. “Must’ve bit his tongue on the way down.”

“The other one didn’t have a bloody panic attack, what do they think we’re going to do, kill him?”

I was seeing stars from underneath the mask, and I wanted to fight, but I couldn’t keep track of which way was up and down. But the flooding panic grew worse as the room slid backwards down the hall. So I stumbled and lurched as the floor wobbled and Hikaru disappeared.


	15. Capgras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to medical students and medical professionals if I have gotten things terribly wrong. Google is my teacher.

A nice salad, a cold soft drink, peace and quiet, even a chapter or two in a fantasy novel – what kind of dream was this?

 _Not one that lasts, obviously,_ thought Kendra bitterly as her pager vibrated. With a sigh of frustration (and a longing thought of summer vacation), she glanced at the screen.

“Honestly, Bill,” she muttered under her breath.

 **You want to see this –B** read the line of text.

Kendra tossed the pager aside and picked up her book. But she didn’t get more than thirty seconds of peace before it went off again.

** It’s about your boys –B **

Kendra stared at the message, a nervous pain in her middle. She could ignore it, Bill was not her boss, she could continue with lunch, it was probably nothing, maybe they were doing something cute and weird again, maybe—

—maybe something was really wrong.

Bill was not her boss. But he did like the boys. Her boss did not care about them in the least. Kendra jumped to her feet and ran from the room, salad and drink and book abandoned. Going down two flights of stairs, she arrived panting in Bill’s office. Bill, a little shrimp of a man with white hair and probably what used to be a magnificent handlebar mustache, scooted back his chair, making room for her. Kendra looked at the normal security screen.

“Where’s—”

Bill shook his head and pointed to another screen; a filing room.

“What did they do to him?” Kendra snatched up Bill’s unused earpiece without waiting for an answer and shoved it in, not even bothering to pull up a chair. The camera, positioned near the ceiling, gave a wide-angle bird’s-eye view of most of the room. Kaoru sat in a chair, plainly terrified, leaning backwards from the interrogators, eyes so wide she could see the whites from here. Blood covered his chin and splattered the front of his polo. His chest heaved and leather restraints bound his wrists to the arms of the chair. Kendra only had a moment to wonder why.

“—ments are not—” the female interrogator (a muscly intimidating woman that Kendra avidly avoided) was speaking.

Kaoru began shaking his head, slowly, but not in a simple back-and-forth-way. It was an agonized sloppy, frantically-trying-to-stay-awake, up and down and sideways way.

“—if you say this press release isn’t what—” the woman’s voice got more agitated.

“Stop,” whimpered Kaoru, and Kendra bit her lip—it was Hikaru’s voice, but defeated. “Stop it, no, no, take me back, take me back, what have you done with him? Where’s Hikaru?” Kendra glanced at the other screen. Hikaru was still there, pacing, and running his hands through his hair.

“We’ve told you—” growled the man, slamming shut a filing cabinet door. “You’re just making this hard on yourself, you’ll go back after—”

“Where is he?” Kaoru suddenly sat straight up and looked ready to pounce out of his chair. “What have you _done_ with him? You’ve shot him, and killed him, and brought him back to life but you can’t _hide_ him from me!”

“He’s where we left him!” the man thundered, throwing down a file on the desk. “If you would just—”

Then Kaoru started struggling, tugging and yanking himself back and forth. _“No!_ That’s not him! Let him out! Don’t lie to me! What have you done with him? Where did you put him? Let him _out_ , take me back, you can try to poison me but you can’t _lie_ to me and tell him _he’s_ there!”

“My god,” Kendra whispered. She felt like she’d been punched. “He’s delusional.”

Bill rubbed the back of his neck. “Not completely irrational to assume we might poison them,” he commented.

Kendra shook herself. “No, no! Not that! Didn’t you hear what he said?” She reached out and grabbed the knob on the screen, twisting it back and rewinding the tape.

“Hey, you can’t do that—not supposed to while it’s live—” Kendra ignored him.

“You’ve shot him, and killed him, and brought him back to life but you can’t _hide_ him from me! No! That’s not him! Let him out!”

“There!” Kendra felt icy tendrils working their way down her back. “Did you hear it that time?” Bill just looked at her, then reached out and set the tape back to recording the live event. “My god,” she repeated, watching him writhe. “My god, we’re going to kill them.”

“They’re not killing him,” said Bill. “Wouldn’t have tied him up or hit him or anything if he’d just come quietly. That wasn't what they were expecting. The other one was so cooperative—where are you going?”

Kendra didn’t answer. She ran from the room, mind whirling, deeply disturbed and deeply guilty. Twelve hours later, she hurtled back down the dimly lit hallway to the hulking metal door. She took a deep breath, a taser clenched in one hand and a notebook filled with franticly scribbled notes in the other, and then swiped her ID and pushed it open.

“How _DARE_ you?” Hikaru shoved her up against the wall, half-strangling her with her own collar before she’d taken two steps in, voice in a hoarse whisper, eyes blazing with more hatred than she’d thought him capable of. His fist wound back. “How _DARE_ you?”

 _He’s going to hit me,_ thought Kendra, feeling very surprised. But he didn’t, though he kept his fist raised. She glanced over his shoulder. Kaoru was curled in the fetal position on the bed, sleeping. A purplish-yellow bruise that stretched across his temple to his eye stood out against his pale skin. “Is he okay?” she whispered back.

Hikaru’s mouth dropped open. “Is he—how _dare_ you!”

Kendra lost her patience. She pushed him back with the head of her taser, tucked her notebook under her arm, fisted the fabric of his shirt and yanked him across the room, into the bathroom, and shut the door. She turned and he stared at her with almost comical surprise.

“Kaoru is delusional,” she said bluntly.

Hikaru blinked, then he scowled. “If you think insulting us is going to make me like you more—”

“I’m using it in the medical sense,” said Kendra. Hikaru shut up. “Kaoru has strongly-held irrational beliefs despite evidence to the contrary and the rational beliefs of everyone around him.” She took a deep breath. “Is that what you meant, when you were trying to tell me he wasn’t himself?”

“I—” Hikaru scratched the back of his hand, his nails leaving white streaks, as he stared at her, anger gone and eyebrows bunched. “I don’t know—he was just acting weird.”

Kendra put a pen to the page. “How so?”

Hikaru’s eyes flickered to the notepad and back. “You’re taking notes?”

“Yes. And we only have until Kaoru wakes up and perhaps begins panicking again, so if you don’t mind please dump the I-told-you-so reveling for now and tell me the symptoms.”

“I don’t…” Hikaru wrapped his arms tight around his chest as if he were cold, rocking back on his heels. “I don’t know if they’re symptoms, exactly…”

“You said he was acting strangely,” snapped Kendra, nerves making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She shot an uneasy glance at the security camera mounted on the ceiling. “Tell me what he was doing that he wouldn’t do normally.”

Hikaru bit his lip. “He’s been angry a lot, sleeping all the time, he’s—rocked back and forth sometimes, seems nervous—twitchy, you know. He’s yelled at me, hit me, keeps holding onto me, thinks I’m going to disappear—” his face clouded again. “And then you _bastards_ just ripped him away and punched him in the head—”

“Yes, I know,” Kendra interrupted. “Symptoms, please.”

“I dunno,” Hikaru repeated, looking at the ground and scratching one ear. “He’s scared,” he said at last. “He’s scared and he won’t tell me why. He’s _never_ not told me why.” Desperation came into his voice, and fear, and brokenness, and his eyes were shining as he looked at the ground to avoid her gaze and _damn_ Kendra hated herself, hated her life, and would gladly throw herself off a building if she didn’t have to look after these two brats.

Kendra flipped back to her notes. “Has Kaoru ever been on drugs?’

“What?” Hikaru looked startled. “No.”

Kendra raised her eyebrows. “Really? You two have never done drugs?”

Hikaru scowled. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m trying to help you, that’s why! You’ve never been addicted to anything? Never overdosed on ecstasy, crack, heroin?”

Hikaru flinched. “No,” he said, a little too quickly.

“Really.”

“No!”

“I’m trying to save your brother.”

Hikaru flinched again and raised his hands. “All right, look, we’ve experimented a bit—I did a bit more—but we were never addicted, and that was three years ago.”

Kendra took a deep breath. “So you know, for a fact, that Kaoru has not recently been on anything. As in, it isn’t possible?”

“Yes.”

Kendra lost her patience. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Oh, gee, let me see, maybe the fact that we spend all day every day together?” Hikaru snapped. “Kaoru’s not on drugs, okay? If drugs caused this, it’s the experimental stuff you gave him.”

“Drugs didn’t cause this,” Kendra said.

“Then why—”

“Withdrawal could be a cause of the symptoms. So Kaoru doesn’t have any motive to use drugs? No motive to, say, self-medicate?”

Hikaru looked wary again. “What do you mean?”

“Has Kaoru ever been depressed?”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess,” Hikaru rubbed his eyes and cocked his head, looking at her notebook. She brought it closer to her chest. “Why?”

“I don’t mean sad,” said Kendra. “I mean really, clinically, diagnosed with depression.”

Hikaru frowned. “No.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Has anyone in your family?”

“Statistically speaking, probably, but I don’t know.”

Kendra felt another flash of anger, but it wasn’t completely directed at Hikaru. She didn’t know enough to do this job, damn it. She took a few seconds to calm herself, pretending to look at her notes, before she spoke again. “Have psychologists ever diagnosed you or your brother with any sort of psychological disorder?”

“No.”

“So you’ve been cleared?”

“No, we’ve just never been diagnosed. We’ve never seen a psychologist.”

Kendra snapped her gaze up to him again, but Hikaru looked back calmly. “You’ve never been to see a psychologist,” she repeated incredulously. Hikaru shook his head. “Never? Not even once? Aren’t you rich kids always brewing with emo vibes?”

Hikaru smirked. “Thanks. But nah, our medical stuff always took place at school. Just basic exams.”

“Seriously? Your parents never took you to see psychologists?”

“Our parents never paid enough attention.” His tone and body language was casual. Kendra sent him another sharp look, but he didn’t seem to be aware that he’d made any sort of potentially-important comment.

Kendra licked her lips. “Should they have? Taken you to see a psychologist?”

“Maybe,” said Hikaru vaguely, suddenly interested in the ceiling.

“What for?”

Hikaru shrugged. “We’ve been through rough spots. Haven’t all teenagers?”

“You told me…” Kendra suddenly remembered. “You told me you’d been through hell.”

“I was mad.”

Kendra gripped her pen. “What was the hell, Hikaru?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you suddenly evading the topic?”

“I’m not,” said Hikaru casually, leaning against the countertop. “Maybe if you would ask something relevant—”

“Tell me!” Kendra interrupted, angry again. “Tell me, upfront, were you or Kaoru ever depressed? Seriously depressed? Lethargy, self-harm, drinking, drugs, whatever. _Tell me._ ”

Hikaru glared at her. His face was slowly flushing. “It’s none of your business.”

Kendra stabbed her pen at the closed door. “I’m trying to help you! Of _course_ it’s my business!”

Hikaru looked at the door. A vein twitched in his neck. He spoke in a rush. “Okay. Yes. Fine. You happy? Both of us, at some point, have been depressed. Thankfully not at the same time or we would probably have done something stupid like a suicide pact. Satisfied?”

Kendra circled a note on her pad. “So there were suicidal thoughts?”

“No. Not serious ones.”

“Really?”

Hikaru looked her dead in the eyes. “No. Killing one of us would have meant leaving the other one.”

Kendra got chills. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Why?”

Hikaru frowned. “Why what?”

“Was there a reason for your depression? Do you know? A trigger?”

He slowly went red again. “What does it matter? You have your answer.”

“It could be important!” Kendra insisted, hands shaking. “There are different kinds of depression, and as you were never diagnosed—is there anything you can think of? Anxiety? Addictions? Loss of a friend? Abuse?” Hikaru flinched. “Is that it? Abuse?”

“Tell me,” Hikaru’s voice grated and his hands clenched around the ledge of the counter. “What this has to do with Kaoru.”

“Maybe nothing,” said Kendra, growing red herself with the effort. She fought to keep calm, but her voice shook. “Maybe everything. Yes or no answer. Were you two every abused in some way?”

Hikaru hung his head. “No.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes.”

Kendra grated her teeth, and when her voice came out the calm was gone and its volume rose. “God _dammit_ , Hikaru, you have to help me with this, I’m not a psychologist—”

“No, you damn well aren’t!” Hikaru shouted. “What are you, twenty-five? Twenty-six? Are you even through medical school? Or are you not even a medical student, you learned your trade in a dark back alley and sold your services to the first John who came along?”

Fury rushed through Kendra and her vision blurred. She choked back a sob and cried out, “ _Answer—the—question—_ ”

Hikaru jumped up from the counter. “I DON’T KNOW!” He shouted, and then looked every bit as startled as Kendra felt. He recovered, and the anger flooded back into his face. “I don’t know,” he said more calmly, voice still shaking with rage. “Nobody ever beat us and nobody ever touched our naughty bits. We both got depressed at one time or another and we both stopped the other from doing anything stupid, but neither one of us ever attempted suicide because that would be abandoning the other one. Anything else you want to know?” His gaze flickered across her face, and Kendra was suddenly aware of the angry tears on her cheeks. She dashed them away and looked back at her notes.

 _Professionalism,_ she ordered herself. “I think,” she took another deep breath. “Kaoru is experiencing intermittent delusions—er, mood-congruent delusions. Meaning they come and go, depending on his mood, if he’s feeling especially stressed or scared or depressed—”

“Like him thinking everything is poisoned? Or thinking I’m going to disappear if he lets me out of his sight?”

“Maybe. Under the circumstances, I’m not sure. They could just be normal, irrational fears. But the real problem is—I think he’s experiencing Capgras delusions. That’s when…” Kendra didn’t look up. She was terrified of what the next words might do to Hikaru. “That’s when the patient sees somebody, and recognizes them, but doesn’t believe they’re actually the somebody.”

“What?”

  _Clinical professionalism,_ Kendra told herself. _Spell it out._ “It means Kaoru doesn’t believe you’re really Hikaru.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Oh my god.”

Kendra glanced up in spite of herself. Hikaru stared at her, gripping the counter with one hand, his face gone white. This was not the reaction she’d expected. A, _No way in hell!_ Or, _You’re the delusional one!_ , or _Do you actually think there’s any possibility, after all we’ve been through, after spending our lives together 24/7 that he wouldn’t recognize me?_

“Not all the time,” she said, as Hikaru swayed a little on his feet. “Intermittently, just occasionally—”

Hikaru fell. For a moment she thought he’d fainted. But he landed somewhat gracefully, back propped against the door and held his head in his hands. “Oh my god,” he repeated, in a whisper.

Kendra knelt in front of him, resting her notebook in her lap. “You…aren’t surprised?”

“He woke me up,” said Hikaru faintly. “He woke me up the other night, ripped my clothes off, started talking about this freckle I’d gotten at the beach—” an inane giggle escaped him, and then he groaned. “And he glares at me, from across the room—oh my god, Kendra, was he trying to see if I was me?”

“Maybe,” Kendra put a hand on his knee, wondering how she could comfort him with this sort of news. “Usually no amount of physical resemblance matters—it’s a delusion, that’s the whole point, none of the evidence matters. If you’re having a delusion you aren’t aware it’s irrational. But like I said, it’s intermittent, so maybe he tries to reassure himself when he comes out of it.”

“That’s why he’s so scared,” said Hikaru, more to himself than to Kendra. “That’s what he doesn’t want to tell me. He knows he’s going insane.”

“He’s not going insane,” said Kendra firmly. “He’s just experiencing delusions. We have time.”

Hikaru looked up, eyes brimming. “Can you cure him? Can you give him, I don’t know, antipsychotics, therapy, anything?”

“I don’t know,” Kendra sat down beside him and showed him her notes. “Look, I’m not a psychologist. And there’s no way I can get him one. But from what I can find, from what you’ve told me, the most likely candidates are psychotic depression and schizophrenia.”

 _“Schizophrenia?”_ Hikaru exclaimed. “Kaoru’s not a schizophrenic!”

“He could be.”

“No, he couldn’t! Look, I know you don’t believe me, but I would know. He was perfectly normal until after I got shot.”

Kendra sighed. “Even assuming you’re right and you would have known, it doesn’t mean Kaoru might not be a developing schizophrenic now. Schizophrenia can come on suddenly and without warning.”

Hikaru was quiet for a long time. “Oh my god,” he said again, and he sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Again, I’m not a professional. I don’t know. It might be either of these things, it might be neither. Psychotic depression, like I said. There’s also Schizoaffective disorder, Schizophreniform disorder—” Hikaru’s hand pressed against his eyes again. Kendra stumbled over herself and hurriedly added, “But it’s definitely something, and the good news is there are medications, and there’s a lot of overlap. Antipsychotics, like you said. I’ll try to get my hands on some.”

“Try,” mumbled Hikaru.

Kendra looked at him, felt compelled to say something, to admit something, to give away a small piece of truth in all the darkness. “You’re right, I’m not licensed. I answer to higher powers, but I will try. Very hard.”

Hikaru nodded, and asked quietly without looking at her, “What can I do?”

 _Not much,_ was the answer, but she couldn’t crush him with that, so she said, “What you’ve been doing. Just be his brother.”

“…‘Kay.” He stood up and pulled open the door. Miraculously, Kaoru was still sleeping, undisturbed by their earlier shouting match. Hikaru stood by the bed, hands in his pockets, looking down at his twin while Kendra went to the door.

“Kendra,” she looked back. Hikaru didn’t look at her. “Thanks.”

Her knees wanted to buckle. She want to sink down right there and bawl her eyes out. He was thanking her. The helpless, kidnapped, confused, frightened boy was actually thanking one of his captors. But she couldn’t cry, not in front of him, so she turned and fled.


	16. It Will Have Its Secrets

Tamaki woke himself up with a snort. He lifted his head off the pages now glued together with a delicate spot of drool. He rubbed his sleeve across mouth and then across his eyes. Also around the square conference table, under the clear, white light always found in hospitals, were Kyoya and Haruhi as they continued sifting through sheets of paper and cross-checking with lists on two of Kyoya’s iPads. Tamaki glanced at his watch. It was four AM; they’d been here for over eight hours. Kyoya looked none the worse for wear, taking sips from the large energy drink at his elbow at regular intervals. Haruhi looked ragged but dogged, one hand digging in her hair as she propped her head up.

“Tamaki,” said Kyoya, glancing at one of the printouts Haruhi held. “How does a maid have a motive to kidnap and kill the twins because she has two children of her own?”

Tamaki yawned. “Jealousy, Kyoya. She could have seen how the twins have everything her children couldn’t.”

“But she doesn’t gain anything from it,” said Haruhi, stifling her own yawn and pushing the page to the side.

“She might think she will get satisfaction,” protested Tamaki. Neither of them answered him. Tamaki pulled the next stack of personality profiles towards him. They had set up this assembly line with Tamaki first going through the printouts gathered by Mori, Honey, and Shiro and making up conceivable backstories that would prompt them to be involved in the kidnappings in some way. Unfortunately, neither Kyoya nor Haruhi seemed to agree with him just what “conceivable” meant, and so Haruhi rapidly filtered his responses before handing to Kyoya what Tamaki felt a rather inadequate number of suspicions.

“Kyoya,” said Haruhi a few minutes later. “After 72 hours…”

“I know,” said Kyoya, tilting his head so that his eyes were hidden by reflection in his glasses.

“Know what?” asked Tamaki.

Haruhi fixed her eyes on the page. Kyoya answered him. “After 72 hours, the chances of survival for abductees plummets.”

Tamaki shivered. “But…we can’t stop.”

“Who said anything about stopping?” Kyoya asked almost sharply. “The most likely candidates will have gotten some sort of financial benefit from these circumstances.”

“I disagree,” said Tamaki. Kyoya and Haruhi both set down the items in their hands and looked at him like he had lost his head. He couldn’t blame them; he so rarely contradicted Kyoya in matters outside of the Host Club. “There has been no ransom,” he said. “No transfer of funds, as far as we can tell. People only do horrible things for money or for love—and power, I suppose,” he added thoughtfully. “But power and money nearly always go together. But as long as there is no money that we can find, the more likely motive is love.”

“You gave this maid’s motive as jealousy,” said Haruhi, glancing at the rejected pile of paper.

“Jealousy spurred by love of her sons,” said Tamaki.

“Be that as it may,” said Kyoya. “There have been certain individuals who have gained financially because of the circumstances – business competitors to the Hitachiin Corporation.” Haruhi and Tamaki both sat up. “Unfortunately, that includes several dozen individuals and smaller corporations most of whom the Hitachiin’s have worked with in some capacity, as they are the frontrunner in their area in the business world.” Kyoya reached under the table where his computer bag sat and pulled out two thick booklets of multiple stapled sheets of paper. He handed one to each of them, and then returned to looking through employee profiles.

Tamaki flipped quickly through his copy and announced, “My money is on Domenic Grennich.”

Haruhi, reading more slowly, didn’t even look up, but Kyoya did. “And why is that?”

“I know of most of these people, and I’ve met several of them,” said Tamaki. “He’s one of the most unpleasant fellows I’ve ever had the misfortune to speak with, and he has his fingers everywhere. There was this guy in France, when I was a kid, his parents died and he was loaded but he sold his business to Grennich for much less than it was worth, and against all the advice of his lawyers. He was a big news story for weeks. I think he’s broke now.”

“Why is that important?” inquired Haruhi.

Tamaki stabbed a finger at Grennich’s face, dramatically sliding the sheet forward across the table. “If anybody is capable of cold-blooded murder, it’s him.”

“Unfortunately, we will need to go off more than just personality and the foolish antics of a wealthy young man. Grennich was reportedly about to merge with Hitachiin—to the benefit of both parties—which makes his involvement extremely unlikely.” Kyoya paused to make a note in his black notebook. “What we’re really looking for is someone with the influence necessary to intimidate and entrap people into working for him, without the chance that they will betray him.”

“Or her,” said Haruhi absently, flipping over a page in her booklet.

“Or her,” Kyoya agreed.

Tamaki, irritated that they were not taking him seriously, sank down in his seat and sulked. After a quarter of an hour of this moody silence, he straightened again. “But if we’re looking for the rival most capable of influence, then we’re looking for someone who is using more than money to intimidate his victims, aren’t we? And we’re investigating the Hitachiin staff, right?”

“Your point?” Kyoya didn’t look up this time.

“We need to find someone who infiltrated the Hitachiin staff.”

“That’s the point of these profiles, Senpei,” said Haruhi tiredly.

Tamaki shook his head, growing more excited. “No, it’s not, the point of the profiles is to find someone under the control of this person. And maybe once we find them we can trace them back to the person, but what if we just went straight in and asked the staff who the most likely rival boss is?” Neither looked up and neither answered them. Tamaki slapped his hand down on the table. Haruhi jumped. “Personalities!” he declared. “Employees are going to be the ones who know the most about the rivals. They will know which business partners could possibly control their co-workers.”

“Senpei,” said Haruhi with a frown. “The Hitachiins aren’t going to discuss private business stuff with their housekeepers, are they?”

Tamaki shook his head. “They don’t need to. It’s a household, it will have its secrets. The staff going to know things that the press does not; they’re going to know whispers that aren’t recorded anywhere. We need to interview the staff.”

“And how,” asked Kyoya calmly. “do you intend to do that with the high security surrounding the place and no authority to interrogate?”

“ _Interview_ , Kyoya, and we don’t have to go to current employees. If we can find those who have been fired, we could find someone with the ability and desire to rat out the rat.”

Kyoya lifted his eyebrows. “You want to find a whistle-blower and dig up dirt on the Hitachiins? That’s not like you.”

Tamaki glowered. “Hikaru and Kaoru have possibly both been killed. Finding something…negative about working in the Hitachiin household will uncover any bad blood about rival households.”

“I can see right through you, you know.” Kyoya studied him with an unreadable expression. “You don’t actually expect to find anything on business rivals. You think you’ll uncover a soap opera.” Tamaki had no answer to this. Kyoya stared at the opposite wall for a few moments. “Haruhi!”

“Wha—” Haruhi jerked back in her seat, dropping the pamphlet and looked at him with the wide-eyed, hazy expression of someone who had dozed off without realizing it. “What is it, Senpei?”

“I want you and Tamaki to find the records of servants who have resigned or been fired by the Hitachiins, track down as many as look promising, and interview them.”

“What?” said Haruhi.

“Really?” said Tamaki. They both looked at each other. “But I thought you said—”

“—that you would go looking for a soap opera? Yes. But Haruhi is similar to myself in that she’ll be able to see the financial side of the situation.”

Haruhi rubbed the back of her neck looking rather pleased with herself. Tamaki beamed and jumped up. “I’ll go get started right now. You won’t regret it, Kyoya.”

“I certainly hope not,” said Kyoya. As Tamaki bounded out of the room, Haruhi cursed behind him, saying “It’s a quarter ‘til. My dad’s going to kill me.”

*

Needless to say, Shiro did not appreciate receiving a phone call from Tamaki at 5am. But after Tamaki explained the vital importance of the new mission, Shiro grudgingly agreed to meet him at a commoner’s café (for secrecy)…though, perhaps, it was Tamaki’s threat to continue to call him every five minutes and then go to his house and throw pebbles at his window until he got up that really convinced Shiro to cooperate.

The bleary-eyed, scowling teen hunched over a steaming cup of tea, mumbling assents and giving instructions for accessing employment records of everyone who had worked at the Hitachiin household. And with astonishing rapidity and clarity, Tamaki breezed through the monstrous list, compiling smaller lists and organizing them according to year and position and when and why their employment had ceased. Then came the torturous job of actually finding the people. Fortunately, many of them remained in close proximity, and a majority were still in Japan. But some were not. A few had died (“It’s not suspicious!” Haruhi insisted. “Considering the reason they stopped working there was retirement.”).

It was only a day or so later that they began rushing about to different households and apartments. Due to Haruhi’s insistence, Tamaki dressed in some of his plainest clothing (“They do _not_ want noticeable people coming by and asking them about suspicious activity at the Hitachiins, especially if they want to be a whistle-blower.”) and they took buses and taxis instead of Tamaki’s limousine and chauffeur.

“Excuse us,” became their mantra, usually spoken by Tamaki. “We wondered if you could help us? We’re trying to find information about a dear friend of ours who died recently, and you used to work in his house. Kaoru Hitachiin? Do you remember anything about him?”

Most of the workers they found just gave them puzzled looks, and sometimes sympathetic ones. “No, sorry....who are you?” Some were bitingly sarcastic. “I worked in the kitchen, you think I ever actually caught sight of one of their Majesties?” Tamaki and Haruhi then tried to steer the conversation towards the Hitachiins themselves. “What about…his parents? Did you ever see them? How was it like working for them?” At this point, most people backed away, asking suspiciously, “Who did you say you were, again?”

“Never mind,” said Tamaki as they left another house with no new information. “It’s an unspoken code to never talk badly about a previous employer – especially ones as rich and important as the Hitachiins. I’m sure they all know secrets, we just need to find the one willing to share.” Haruhi dragged her hands down her face and didn’t answer.

Day three of their investigation, as they took a break eating sandwiches and drinking smoothies in a café, Haruhi received a phone call from Kyoya.

“New assignment. Write down these names.” Haruhi scrambled for a paper and pen. Tamaki leaned in close so he could hear Kyoya’s voice squawking from Haruhi’s cell. “Utano Usami. Tomiju Sugai. Orochi Goto. Utano Usami is a maid who requested a week’s leave a week before Kaoru disappeared. She sent a letter of resignation from her now-empty apartment and hasn’t been found since. Tomiju Sugai is the employee of a contracting window-washing company who called in sick the day Kaoru disappeared. Orochi Goto is a security guard who was on vacation when Kaoru disappeared. He was found in Beijing yesterday and brought in for questioning. Look them up. Check their stories and their backgrounds. They are the only employees somewhat unaccounted for and without solid alibis.”

“Who found them?” asked Haruhi, scribbling furiously.

“Shiro found Utano Usami, Mori and Honey found the other two,” said Kyoya, and he hung up.

“But what about our list?” protested Tamaki.

“It’ll have to wait,” said Haruhi, running her finger down over the three names. “This might be a lead.”

Tamaki put his own list in his pocket a little forlornly and pulled up a new search page on his computer. As important as it was to investigate anything Kyoya deemed promising, he couldn’t give up on his own theories. Not yet. Even though Haruhi clearly thought it a waste of time, and Kyoya was only marginally convinced that their interviews could potentially glean some information.

Tamaki searched for the names and found the address of Tomiju Sugai and Orochi Goto. They visited Sugai first. Someone else answered the door, and only after their insistence bordered on threats did Sugai come to the door, wobbling and red-faced, with a robe clutched about her neck and slippers on her feet and clearly deathly sick from the flu. They apologized profusely for bothering her and hurried down the sidewalk, crossing her name from the list.

“If Orochi Goto’s been questioned by the police I don’t think he’ll want to speak to us right now,” said Haruhi as they sat waiting for the bus. She fanned herself with a notebook as the sun beat down on them. Tamaki shrugged and didn’t answer, still thinking with sadness about their now-abandoned investigation of other employees. “Let’s look him and the other woman up first, try to find out as much as we can about them before tracking them down. And stop sulking, Senpei, we can keep visiting the others later.”

“Uh-huh,” said Tamaki, unconvinced. He stood up. Even his bones felt tired. “Let’s get a taxi back to my place, I’m tired of buses.”

Haruhi looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn’t. Tamaki called a cab. Haruhi gave him multiple concerned sideways glances that Tamaki didn’t notice. When the cab came, Haruhi got in first. Tamaki shut the door behind her.

“Hey!” Haruhi rolled down the window. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll get another,” said Tamaki. “I want to interview the person we were going to interview earlier.”

“Senpei—”

Over her protests, Tamaki handed the cab driver several large bills.

“Senpei, I’m not using your money to pay if—”

“You wanted to take a bus,” Tamaki pointed out, and when she opened her mouth he begged, “Please just take it and don’t argue with me, Haruhi.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “…are you okay?”

Tamaki smiled. “I’m fine.” He waited until Haruhi’s cab vanished around a corner, and then he collapsed back onto the bus stop bench and pulled out his own list. While this new investigation was all well and good, he wasn’t going to give up the old one. He didn’t care what Kyoya and Haruhi thought. He would find something. He knew it.

*

Haruhi did her best to disregard how uneasy she felt about how _easy_ it was for her to access restricted files at this point. Instead of getting panic attacks every time a warning flashed at her, she consulted Kyoya’s unnervingly detailed tips and, if all else failed, contacted Kyoya for help, or if he was busy, Honey and Mori.

“We need to talk to Orochi Goto,” she confided in Mori later in the week. “But I can’t get close enough to him.”

“Where is he now?” Mori asked.

“I can text Kasanoda and find out. They’re following him around now.”

Mori stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t threaten him,” Haruhi warned two hours later as they followed the off-duty guard down a busy street. Mori quickened his pace and before Haruhi could stop him, tapped the guard on the shoulder. He whirled around, eyes narrowed. Haruhi caught up and opened her mouth, but Mori spoke before she could.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Do you know where the nearest bus station is?” Haruhi frowned. Was this his idea of a conversation opener?

The guard looked at them both for several seconds before grunting, “Two streets down, turn left.”

“Thank you,” said Mori, and with that, he turned back the way they had come, grabbing Haruhi’s arm and gently pulling her away.

“What was that?” protested Haruhi. “We were supposed to ask him about Beijing.”

Mori shrugged, and didn’t stop pulling her until they were several streets and turns away. Then, in the shadow of a more deserted street, he held out an object in his hand. Haruhi didn’t understand.

“I don’t want or need your money,” she said, confused. Mori shook his head and continued to hold out his hand, so Haruhi took the wallet and flipped it open. “I don’t understand what—” The ID’s picture was that of a bald man with protruding ears. “You _stole_ his _wallet_??” Haruhi shrieked in a strangled whisper.

Mori glanced at the people several paces up the street. “It isn’t stealing if you give it back,” he said.

Haruhi shoved the wallet at his chest. He took it, watching her quietly. “Yes, actually, it is!” she hissed. “I don’t believe you! _All_ of you! Kyoya’s bad enough, but… _all_ of you! I can’t _believe_ this! We weren’t supposed to become criminals looking for criminals… _I can’t believe this._ ”

Mori patted her shoulder in an oddly comforting way. “I’ll take it to Kyoya,” he said. “You go home.”

“I ought to report all of you to the police,” Haruhi grumbled, half-seriously and half-laughing and half to herself. “It’s hard getting past all the fluff working with Tamaki, but at least he has a conscience…God, we would all get life sentences at this point.”

“Go home. Sleep,” Mori ordered, patting her again and pointing to the bus stop up the street.

“…life sentences for hacking and accessing privileged information, if not all-out conspiracy and espionage…” muttered Haruhi as she obediently went to the bus stop and sat down. Mori went around a corner, and she didn’t notice how he stood there, watching to make sure she got on the bus safely before nodding to himself and heading back down the street, slipping the stolen wallet into his pocket.


	17. Soap Operas and Death Threats

I woke up to Hikaru’s incessant prodding. Knocking his hand away and rubbing my eyes, I stared up blearily at him. “What?”

“Breakfast,” said Hikaru in the voice he used to let me know arguing would be pointless. “Don’t make me cram it down your throat.”

I sat up, scowling. “Why are you being my nanny all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hikaru shoved the wrinkled blankets away. Cold air hit my legs as he plopped down the tray.

“I’m talking about making me eat on a schedule,” I grumbled. “You’ve been doing it for days. You eat. I want to sleep.”

“Since when do you eat less than three square meals a day with snacks on the side?” Hikaru pushed half of the dishes towards me and began eating, kneeling on the floor as he leaned over the edge of the bed. He didn’t meet my eyes.

“Since I’ve been kept in the same room with nothing to do but read the same books and play the same stupid game.” I didn’t touch the food. “What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t like eating by myself.”

I folded my arms. “Well, you’re going to, unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Hikaru stirred the ice in his water with the tip of one finger. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Hikaru flinched. His gaze flickered upwards, a spark of fear in his eyes. It took all of my willpower not to wilt and give in. He looked back at his water cup. I lowered my voice, glancing at the camera mounted on the ceiling. “Did you hear something? Are they going to kill us?”

“No,” said Hikaru quickly. “Nothing like that. And how would I hear something like that? I’ve been with you the entire time.”

I watched his face. “You and Kendra talk about things. She checks your arm and you whisper things when you think I’m sleeping.” Hikaru didn’t answer, and his face remained blank. “She came a couple days ago and didn’t even pretend to check your shoulder. You talked and she left. What do you talk about?”

Hikaru drew his finger out of the water and sat back on his heels, staring into space. Then he closed his eyes, shook his head, and got up to sit on the bed beside me. I drew my legs up to give him room. He glanced at me, then at the floor, then took a deep breath and looked me in the eyes. “You.”

“Me…what?”

“We talk about you. I know about the delusions.”

My face flushed. “The what?”

“Delusions,” said Hikaru, still looking me in the eye. “Kendra figured it out. You think you’re going crazy, don’t you? That’s why you’re so scared.” My mouth went dry. “We’re right, aren’t we? That sometimes you don’t know what’s real?” I shivered, and this time it was me that broke eye contact.

“You’re not,” said Hikaru, putting his hand over mine. “Kendra’s not sure, but she thinks it could just be a…sort of a severe side-effect of depression. A certain kind of depression.” He scratched behind one ear. “Um. She explains this better.”

Heat flooded my eyes. I closed them and it prickled against my eyelids. “Depression?” I tried to say calmly, and it came out sounding broken.

“Yeah. You know, like, before. You remember. Just kind of different.” His voice suddenly lowered to a pitch that my ears almost couldn’t pick up. “Kendra thinks it’s from – it’s all from, originally – our grade-school nanny.”

My eyes flew open. “You _told_ her?” Flecks of my spit spun through the air. I stared at him, horrified. Hikaru looked equally horrified.

“Of course not. What do you take me for? She knows something happened, just no idea what it was. It’s not important. The important thing is you hang on and get better once we’re out of here.” He patted my hand. The comforting gesture was so unlike him that it was almost funny, but touching all the same. I let him do it and tried to look comforted. I nodded at the tray.

“And, what, three square meals is part of the treatment?”

Hikaru also looked towards the tray. Whether the glance was reflexive or deliberate in order to hide his face, I wasn’t sure. “Yeah. Routine is. You know.”

I huffed, unconvinced. “Okay then.” I began to eat, and Hikaru looked relieved. A little too relieved. He was still hiding something.

That was okay, I decided. I wanted him to tell me. But if he couldn’t bring himself to now, I could wait. And though I didn’t believe eating regularly would help me in any way, it would at least help Hikaru not feel so helpless, and that was something. Some of the tension gave way inside of me. Hikaru knew. Hikaru knew, and he was still treating me like Kaoru.

“We’ve been through worse,” said Hikaru suddenly as he watched me eat. “This isn’t anything different. You know that, right?”

I ducked my head to hide the tears that suddenly flooded my eyes. I didn’t believe him. I doubted that he believed him.

“It’ll be fine,” he said spontaneously, later that day when we were both lounging on our respective beds. I nodded.

But he was wrong. He said it mere minutes before a group of rough, agitated men strode into the room and took me by the arm. His voice rose an octave as he protested. The men shoved him aside, growling “Blame your parents, not us, you rich brats.” He said it before I struggled and failed to suppress the return of panic and fear that if I left, Hikaru would disappear. He said it before they took me to a different room. One with bright lights, masks, and a camera.

*

Tamaki sighed heavily as he hung his head, looking at the cracked concrete on the sidewalk. He felt the sadness and poverty of the inner city coating his soul like dust and the smell of smoke coated his jacket. Kyoya and Haruhi had been right. This entire search had been a waste of time. They were no closer to finding the twins, they were no closer to finding the mole who had set-up the inside job, they were no closer to finding the mastermind behind all of this—

 _Give up,_ a voice whispered inside of him. _You’re exhausted. You don’t belong here. Go home. Drink tea. Visit Haruhi. Make her roll her eyes and laugh. Play the piano. Watch a movie. You’ve done all you can. There’s nothing more you can do._

Tamaki raised his head and looked up at the tall, grey apartment building. The bright blue sky made his tired eyes ache.

_You’re about to knock on the door of someone who left the Hitachiins a decade ago. Pathetic. You should have seen this coming. You incurable optimist, you ridiculous, foolish, filthy child; the real world is going to crush you._

Tamaki shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with his fingers. “No,” he whispered. These thoughts were echoes of Grandmother Shizue; these were not _his_ thoughts. Mother would want him to keep going; Mother would tell him to never give up. To always seek to help his friends. She wouldn’t tell him his instincts were rubbish. She would tell him to explore every opportunity, pursue every possibility, unravel every source. Tamaki lifted his hand and punched in a number on the dusty, creaking security box.

“Who is it?” squawked a woman’s voice.

“Toki Maki?”

“Yes?”

Mother would also want him to be honest. “My name is Tamaki Suoh. I am trying to find out what happened to two friends of mine who have disappeared. I wondered if I could ask you some questions about your time working at the Hitachiin household.” A pause. The box was silent. “Please!” Tamaki pleaded, his desperation building. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, no one has been able to help me or my friends. I just want to know what happened to them. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. _Please._ ” The box remained silent. Tamaki stepped away, frustrated and despairing, and covered his face.

 _Click._ The building door unlocked. Tamaki, hardly able to believe his ears, thrust it open and ducked inside. He rushed up the first set of stairs he found, trying to outrun the possibility that she might change her mind or (like the last person he’d visited) call security. Tamaki reached her door and knocked loudly. He didn’t realize he was panting, or that sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, until she cracked open the door and peered out of him.

He stepped back, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair. “Toki Maki-san?”

She looked at him quietly. A short woman, a bit plump, and hints of grey in her hair. “What do you want?”

“I want to know about your time at the Hitachiins,” Tamaki repeated.

“Why?” she didn’t appear hostile or frightened, but the way she angled her body and kept the door ready to close at any moment signaled her caution.

“My friends,” said Tamaki. “The ones that disappeared are Hikaru and Kaoru.”

She nodded, once. “I’ve seen the news. Those poor boys. You said your name was Suoh?”

“Tamaki Suoh.”

“That wouldn’t be of Suoh Enterprises, would it?”

“Yes, it would, but I’m not here on its behalf.”

Her gaze flickered up and down as she observed his Haruhi-approved commoner garb. She met his eyes again. “I don’t know how I can help you, Tamaki-san. I knew your friends, but that was a long time ago.”

“Maybe you can’t help me,” said Tamaki. “But you could at least tell me about them when they were little, before I knew them – please?” He was begging now. _I’m so tired._

Her expression softened. “Well,” she said slowly, stepping back and widening the door. “Come in. I can get you some tea, anyway.”

“Thank you,” breathed Tamaki in relief, stepping into her apartment. “Thank you very much.”

She led him to a small but neat and cozy room that reminded Tamaki of Haruhi’s father’s simple apartment.  “Have a seat,” she said, indicating a Western-style table that sat underneath a clean window with a clear view to a grimy street. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She returned a few minutes later with steaming mismatched cups of tea and a plate of cookies. She set the plate and one cup in front of him, then sat down at the other end of the table. Tamaki thanked her profusely, feeling himself relax for the first time in what felt like days. She waved him off. “What do you want to know? I didn’t work with the twins directly, poor boys – I was the assistant to the housekeeper.”

“Anything you want to tell me,” said Tamaki, sipping the surprisingly excellent tea. “I’ve been trying to find other ex-staff members too—but none of them want to talk of me. I’ve met some who seemed to not be fond of the twins at all.”

Toki Maki frowned. “You’ve been interviewing other staff members as well? What is it you’re looking for?”

“Well…” Tamaki hesitated. “At first I was trying to find someone who knew something—anything—about how or why the twins disappeared. Or who might have wanted to hurt them. Someone who knew anything that the police didn’t. But now…”

“Now you just want memories?” Tamaki nodded. Toki Maki looked out the window, tapping her forefinger against her cup. “I started working at the mansion when the twins were – oh, they must have been four or five. They were not – popular among the staff, you could say. I didn’t mind them myself, so long as they didn’t get up underneath my feet. A few months after I started, though, their nanny quit. She must have been barely keeping them under control, because when she left it was like the cap being taken off of a fire hydrant. They were, quite frankly, little terrors.” She paused. “Poor boys.”

“You keep saying that,” said Tamaki. “Is it because they’re gone, or…?”

She shook her head. “I am sorry they’ve been killed, yes, but even then – well, even beyond my frustration with their antics, I felt sorry for them. They didn’t have any friends. I don’t know what they were like at school, but if their behavior at home is any indicator of what they were like as schoolmates, I’m not surprised.”

Tamaki set down his cup and stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“They seemed to take great pleasure in making life difficult for everyone around them – intentionally so. They were destructive. I remember in particular one incident where they overturned several cans of paint in the main hall. It took a terrible amount of money and manpower to clean it up. One of them once got their hand on their seamstress’ stock of needles and they spent weeks running about stabbing us in the thighs with them. In the staffing room, if anybody had complaints to share, it was almost always about the twins. Many—don’t ask me for their names—said outright they hated them or wished they would fall off a roof and break their necks.” She shook her head.

Tamaki, try as he might, could not picture the twins like this. Yes, they were always troublesome, and yes, they were sometimes cruel (though rarely intentionally) and lacked a filter, but they were _likeable_. Even in middle school, though they had often been unpleasant to their classmates, they had mostly kept to themselves. He swallowed. “But not you?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, I somehow managed to not really interact with them at all. And I felt sorry for them. Even more so now. I didn’t know it then, but now—I'm no child psychologist, but I’ve worked around children a lot at this point, you understand. I was a teacher for several years, and I’m a short-term nanny now. But I understand now it wasn’t their fault they were acting out. They simply didn’t get any attention.”

Tamaki frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Now,” said Toki Maki quickly. “I don’t mean they were neglected. They were very well cared for. But the Hitachiins—I know they are very successful, and they were always pleasant to me—but they didn’t pay the twins any mind, and the servants didn’t if they could help it, and even the nannies minimized how much time they spent with the twins because they acted out so badly—it’s an awful spiral. The twins were awful because they wanted attention, and they didn’t get enough attention because they were awful. We can argue, of course, about which came first: the chicken or the egg.”

Tamaki looked down at his cup and swirled in gentle circles, created spirals of tea. “Why did you leave?” He looked up again when Toki Maki didn’t answer. “Miss?”

Her fingers tightened around her cup, her lips pressed together, and—either it was a trick of the light, or there was dampness gathering in her eyes. Tamaki stood up so quickly his chair scooted backwards and nearly fell over. “What is it?” He knelt down and looked up into her face. “What’s wrong?”

She shook herself and the corners of her lips curved upwards, the skin tight against her teeth. “Nothing’s the matter. I was becoming distracted and frustrated at my job. My husband asked me to resign, and I did. I’ve been very happy.” She said the words with unnecessarily finality.

Tamaki frowned. Toki Maki looked away and out the window. Tamaki made a stab in the dark. “Did someone threaten you?” She seized up. Her face remained turned away. “What happened?” Tamaki repeated in a whisper. He touched the backs of her fingers. “Tell me. I can help.”

“There’s nothing to help,” Toki Maki whispered, and she drew her hand away from Tamaki’s and wiped her eyes. “Not anymore.”

Tamaki’s stomach flipped. “Does it have to do with the twins?” Toki Maki, her gaze fixed on her tea, nodded. “What do you know? What happened?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the kidnappings.”

“Forget the kidnappings!” Tamaki jumped up. “If someone hurt them—or hurt you—and got away with it—” Toki Maki let out a sob and covered her face with her hands.  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he cried in alarm. “Do you need a doctor? Therapist? Police? I’ll pay for everything, you don’t have to worry—”

Toki Maki dropped her hands, regaining her composure and looking at him with two tear tracks on her worn face. “I can’t have trouble,” she said quietly. “Not now, when there’s nothing to be done anyway.”

Tamaki forced himself to sit down and to not passionately disagree that nothing could be done. Something could _always_ be done, as long as you had enough money and power to instigate it. _Oh no, he was becoming as cynical as Kyoya._ “What happened? Did the Hitachiins threaten you?”

“No,” said Toki Maki. “I don’t think they knew—or at least, they convinced themselves they didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know about what?”

She looked him in the eyes. “The twins’ new nanny.”

*

“Damn it!” Kyoya shouted. Honey started and dropped his tea. Mori silently handed him a napkin.

“What’s wrong?” Haruhi sat up straight from where she had been bent over textbooks of law, curled in one of the luxurious leather chairs in Kyoya’s apartment. Kyoya rubbed the bridge of his nose, hard, and glared at his laptop screen, typing with unnecessary force. The error message flashed again.

“ _Damn_ it!” Kyoya snatched up the empty cola can at his elbow, crumpled it violently and threw it at the nearest trashcan. It bounced off the wall and skittered off into a corner. Kyoya flung himself back in his chair, arms folded and clamped against his chest.

Honey commented, mouth full, “No luck on tracking Orochi Goto’s credit cards, huh?”

Kyoya scowled at the cola can. A few drops of brown liquid dripped from its open mouth onto the floor. Mori answered Honey for him. “Goto did not use his credit card very much. But he seems to have been in Beijing for his vacation the entire time, as he claimed.”

“ ‘Seems’?” Repeated Honey. “But he still could have snuck out, right? Just not used his card?”

“Or used one under a fake name,” said Mori. “But nothing we can track.”

“But you’ll find something soon, right, Kyoya?” asked Honey cheerfully. “You have your whole private police force back now that Inspector Komatsu sent them away. They can help, right?” Kyoya didn’t answer or move.

“Komatsu did what?” Haruhi shut the thick law book with a muffled _boom_.

“Sent Kyoya’s force away,” said Honey, words blurring together as he took a large bite of cake. “He and Kyoya got in a fight because Komatsu wouldn’t give Kyoya any information and Kyoya said fine, he’ll just ask his police force and they’ll tell him everything he needs to know, and Komatsu said fine, they weren’t doing him any good anyway and sent them all back.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” said Kyoya stiffly. “We had a disagreement about how he was handling the case.”

Haruhi got up out of the chair. She passed Kyoya, bent down, retrieved the can, and threw it in the garbage. Kyoya tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Senpei, when was the last time you slept?”

“Two days ago, probably,” commented Honey. Kyoya dug a fingernail into his thumb to keep stop himself from jumping up and punching Honey for using such a peppy tone of voice. “He’s fine though, he can live on energy drinks.”

 _Three_ , thought Kyoya mechanically. _And three hours of sleep before that._ He didn’t feel tired though, just angry and frustrated, with a volcano of energy bubbling just below the surface like boiling water in a cauldron with an airtight lid fastened over the top.

“You should get some sleep, Senpei,” said Haruhi, coming to stand beside Kyoya’s laptop.

Kyoya glanced at his watch and ignored her advice. “Where’s Tamaki?” he grumbled. “He should have been back ages ago.”

“Think he’s okay?” asked Haruhi, her eyebrows bunching together. Good; he’d distracted her from his sleeping schedule.

“No doubt he’s simply happily pursuing his Hitachiin soap opera and lost track of the time.” Kyoya sighed and sat up, unfolding his arms. He gestured at the error message on the laptop screen. “My forces were able to tell me that Komatsu is privy to some concerning messages of which the Hitachiins have been the recipients.”

“Messages?” breathed Haruhi. Kyoya felt Mori’s and Honey’s gazes on the back of his neck. “What kind of messages?”

“As you can see,” growled Kyoya. “I’ve been unable to gain access. Komatsu seems to have suddenly gained the ability to be _competent_ —” He slammed his fist on the table, making everyone in the room jump again. “—at something.”

“Did your forces tell you anything else?” asked Haruhi, not seeming alarmed by his outburst of temper.

“Only that it is unlikely Komatsu is involved, as are the people on his force. I believe that he is on the side of the good.” Kyoya hated to reach this conclusion; their list of suspects was dwindling down to nothing and nobody except those who could not be found.

“So he’s trustworthy?” pressed Haruhi. 

“I didn’t say that. Though I suppose he is as trustworthy as a meddling, incompetent, power-seeking lackey of the Hitachiins who arrests innocent people at a whim so long as he appears to be doing something and refuses to trust those who have infinitely more resources because they may deign to steal some of his _glory_ —” At this point, Kyoya realized he was ranting, so he shut up. Good god, all of this grief and he didn’t even _like_ the twins. Kyoya rubbed the bridge of his nose again and got to work closing down the error-filled spaces on his laptop.

A knock at the door. “Mr. Ootori?” A maid poked her head into the room.

“What.” Kyoya did his best to keep his anger out of his voice; it didn’t work very well. “I said we were to be left alone.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Ootori,” said the maid. Kyoya looked at her, and some of his anger dissipated. She looked frightened. “It’s just that—there’s an officer asking for you.”

“Komatsu?” asked Kyoya, studying her face.

“No—well, yes, they were sent on his orders.”

“ 'They'?” Repeated Haruhi.

“And what were his orders?” asked Kyoya quietly.

“They’re to bring you in, Sir. That is—all of you.”

“Bring us in?” exclaimed Haruhi. “Are they arresting us? _Again_?”

Behind him, Kyoya heard Mori stand up. Doubtless he was preparing to defend Honey against unlawful incarceration.

The maid looked even more frightened and she spoke all in a rush. “No, no, Miss, not arresting you. He told me to tell you that Komatsu said to tell you that you all are to come in for questioning. And if you resist you will be considered suspects in death threats against the Hitachiins and a warrant for your arrest _will_ be produced within the next hour with all of the—” she stumbled over her words. “—support and power of the courts and the national government.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Honey shouted.

“Death threats,” murmured Haruhi under her breath. Kyoya glanced at her. So she had noticed that too.

“Mitskuni,” said Mori.

A long silence followed. Kyoya looked at the maid without seeing her, thinking very rapidly and very calmly. He felt the gazes of the Hosts again as they all watched him, waiting for his lead. Kyoya’s anger still burned, but it simmered beneath the surface and would remain there until it found the best outlet.

“Very well then,” said Kyoya. He got to his feet and spent a moment locking down his computer. “We will go and express to the Inspector our desire to be of assistance and,” he glanced at his friends. “Our hope that he can be just as informative.”


	18. The Threatened Person is Helpless

Kyoya Ootori had very little patience with idiots.

Scratch that, he had no patience at all. If he appeared to have patience with idiots it was only because he had found a use for their idiocy. And so, without so much as threatening the officers with permanent forced vacations to the Amazon jungle, Kyoya Ootori slid into the back of the gleaming police car as if it were one of his personal limousines and began to send texts with instructions to his personal guard and staff. Haruhi sat next to him, her hands clenching her knees, and she said nothing. The setting sun stung his eyes. He put on his sunglasses.

The car pulled up in front of the station. Haruhi glanced at Kyoya. He continued tapping on his phone. He made no move to look up or exit the vehicle until the officers pulled open the doors. Kyoya then stepped out without looking at them and headed inside without waiting for their lead. Nobody stopped him.

An officer pounced on him the moment he stepped through the doors. "Right this way, Mr. Ootori."

"Tell the Detective to give me a few minutes," said Kyoya as the officer led him to a room with no windows or carpet, but a dirty yellow armchair and one wooden bench and two wooden chairs. "I have some things to attend to." He glanced at the seating options and chose one of the wooden chairs. He sat there only a few moments before – as he suspected he would – Komatsu came striding through the doors. Kyoya understood his type. Normally they let their victims stew for a long period before appearing, but as Kyoya had asked for time, Komatsu had decided to interrupt him.

Kyoya ignored his entrance except to briefly hold up one finger before returning to his messages.

"Ootori—"said Komatsu.

"One moment," said Kyoya without slowing his tapping.

"Ootori, this is not a social call."

Kyoya ignored him for a moment more, and then slid his phone into his jacket pocket. "Thank you for setting up this meeting time, I was about to do so myself."

Komatsu pulled up the other chair and sat down in it, facing Kyoya. "Don't be coy with me, Ootori. You could be in very deep water here. We have it on good authority that you have been threatening the Hitachiins."

"On the contrary," said Kyoya. "If you had anything on anybody's authority you would have arrested me outright – and you would have arrested _me_ , not all of the twins' closest friends. Which proves one thing, and one thing only – _you_ are the one in deep water, not me."

"Mr. Ootori!" Komatsu stood up. "I didn't arrest you because I'm trying to help you. A scandal right now surrounding on of Japan's brightest, and one of the recently deceased Hitachiin's closest friends, is the last thing that you – or the Hitachiin family – needs."

"On the contrary," said Kyoya, his anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. "A scandal is exactly what you need. Not one with proof – but who needs proof for a scandal, as long as the media gets their fingers on it? You aren't an officer of the law: you're a gossip-rag reporter."

"You," Komatsu's voice rose. "Have had every opportunity to take advantage of the unfortunate situation of the Hitachiins – even if you were not directly involved, we have every reason to believe that you have exploited their vulnerability at every turn."

Red lined the edges of Kyoya's vision. "Komatsu—"

"You!" Komatsu cried, stabbing a finger at Kyoya's face. "You would have everything to gain if the Hitachiin Corporation crumbled!"

Komatsu was being an idiot in front of a three-day-sleep-deprived Kyoya Ootori. He was tangling with an enraged, blood-thirsty tiger with no conscience, a conceivable blueprint for owning sixy-seven percent of the Earth’s resources within five decades (give or take a few years and a few percentage points), and the pent-up energy from ten or more energy drinks. He was going to be pulverized.

"And you," Kyoya was standing without realizing he'd risen. "Must have failed so miserably in your service to the Hitachiins that your only hope of survival is to make it impossible for them to fire you. And that can only happen if you can be the one to uncover a massive scandal. And so you, being the idiot that you are, select the innocents that actually have an ability to help you."

"The _facts show_ ," Komatsu's nostrils flared. "That you have a history of swooping in when corporations fail, buying up their assets, growing your own empire—"

"Facts?" Kyoya said softly. "You want to talk about facts? Let's look at the facts, shall we?" He counted on his fingers as he stood completely still. "You mention death threats to bring us in. Why would you do such a thing? Why now? You were getting along fine before – sure, you couldn't find the assassins, but these cases often go unsolved and you were maintaining your reputation and your paycheck without solving the case. So why bring us in now, unless something else came up? It's possible you made up the death threats. But _something_ new must have happened. Something that demands an answer that you can't find. The Hitachiins – are they being blackmailed? Or are there real death threats involved?" Kyoya watched Komatsu's eyes as he spoke quickly, his mind stirring around the puzzle pieces and sliding them into place. Perhaps it was because of his sleep deprivation, but something occurred to him that hadn't before – and, implausibly, it felt plausible. "And if there is blackmail involved, what could possibly be more damaging to the Hitachiins right now than some secret involving their sons? And if there are death threats, death threats against whom? The most highly-guarded couple on earth right now, or someone very close to them? And if it's someone close to them, why is it such a secret? Why hasn't the news gone out? Unless the news is something that the Hitachiins themselves don't want to get out. And, most importantly, why did the Hitachiins receive the threat instead of the person being threatened? Unless, somehow, the Hitachiins themselves are the only one who can stop it, and the threatened person is helpless."

Komatsu's pupils dilated. _Bingo._

Kyoya's phone rang. He and Komatsu stared at each other for a long moment. Then, Kyoya said softly, "Excuse me," and took his phone out of his pocket.

"KYOYA!!" the phone shrieked. Komatsu turned away and crossed his arms. "THE POLICE ARE HERE AND THEY ARE CLAIMING I'VE BEEN TRYING TO KILL PEOPLE—OR TAKE DOWN THE HITACHIINS—AND THEY SAY YOU'RE THE MASTERMIND BEHIND IT AND THEY SAY YOU'VE BEEN ARRESTED AND THEY'RE TRYING TO ARREST ME—"

"Tamaki, calm down."

"BUT KYOYA! THEY'RE ACCUSING ME OF—"

Kyoya did not have time for this. He felt his own pulse; it was racing, overstimulated by adrenaline and excess caffeine. “Tamaki, you bumbling, ridiculous oaf of a half-assed man, go with them before you make a scene and incarcerate yourself.”

Tamaki went very quiet for a moment. “Kyoya, you’ve been skipping sleep again, haven’t you?”

“Just get down here, you gross excuse for intelligent life.”

“What has it been, four days?”

“Three,” said Kyoya shortly. “Now come before I burst a circuit.” He hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. "Komatsu, I'm warning you right now – this is going to get much messier before it gets cleaner. Let me help you."

"You can't be trusted," said Komatsu.

"Very well. May I go speak to my companions then and give you time to create some false evidence?"

Komatsu turned and looked him in the eye again, his expression cold.

*

Hikaru sounded terrified. I wanted to go to him; I wanted to help him, I wanted to find out who was scaring him. I wanted to fight them off; I wanted to help him it would be okay.

But I was having a hard time waking up.

Hikaru sounded angry. I tried to listen, but I kept forgetting the beginning of the sentence as soon as he finished it. He said something about Kendra. I wondered if Kendra was the one frightening him – I had a hard time believing that was true.

Now Hikaru sounded heartbroken, and he was sobbing. Then I finally was able to understand his words.

"What are we going to do? What are we going to do? _Why are they doing this?_ Why won't they just kill us? Why won't they just let us go? What do they want from us?"

And then,

"Kaoru. Kaoru, wake up. _Please_ wake up."

Then there was Kendra, and her voice was shaking too, but I didn't know her well enough to know if she was scared or sad or just nervous. "They haven't killed him, Hikaru—careful, don't move him—he's going to be in pain, it's best to let him sleep."

Oh, dear. Well, if I was going to be in pain, I didn't want to wake up.

But Hikaru was sobbing again. "Tell me what to do. Kendra, _tell me what they want me to do_."

No, I took it back. I couldn't sleep while Hikaru was sobbing.

 _Wake up!_ I ordered myself, and my body obeyed.

I tried to ask Hikaru what was wrong, but all that came out was a moan, because I tried to open my eyes and the white light burned, and then the rest of me burned and then throbbed and something in my side was jabbing me repeatedly, like a red-hot poker.

"Kaoru?" Pressure on either side of my face; it felt like it sent aches down my spinal cord. I gasped, and my lungs splintered. "Kao-chan."

"Easy," said Kendra. The pressure disappeared. I tried again to open my eyes, but it hurt, the light hurt, and all I could see was one slit of light.

I tried to ask Hikaru what was wrong again, and I almost managed to say his name. I moved my hand, trying to find him, and then I cried out—which only made my eyes and my lungs and my side hurt again.

"Kaoru," Kendra's voice stopped shaking. "Kaoru, if you can understand me, I need you to hold still. It's going to hurt, but it'll only last a second, I'm almost done. Ready? On three. One, two—"

I heard something snap and I jerked involuntarily; bright red sparks exploded behind my eyelids.

"That was on two!" Hikaru screamed at her.

Kendra said nothing. I tried again to open my eyes, and this time I managed it. Hikaru leaned over me, face red, hair a mess—he had been crying. I could still see wet tears. I wanted to cheer him up. I tried to smile.

"Hi, Hika-chan." My voice wasn't working right and the syllables were garbled and I tasted copper. But Hikaru's eyes widened.

"He's awake! I mean, really awake this time!"

"Are you sure? What did he say?" Kendra's head popped up into my line of vision; she had been on my other side. Her hands had blood on them.

"My name." The mattress shifted as Hikaru sat down next to me. I whimpered and he froze. "Oh, god, that was me, wasn't it?"

The copper taste was getting worse. "Water?" I asked.

"What did he say?" asked Kendra, but Hikaru had already sprang up off the bed (I moaned again, and Hikaru blubbered more apologies.)

"What do I do?"

"Try to sit him up."

It was getting easier to hold my eyes open. Unfortunately, it was also getting easier to identify each one of my body parts and how exactly each one was hurting. My tongue, for example, besides tasting like copper also felt rubbed raw and swollen. But half a glass of choked-down water-later, I felt simultaneously more ripped apart and more alive.

"What happened?" I managed (now my jaw felt like it had been bludgeoned with a sledge hammer—or, wait, maybe that was accurate—) "What's wrong?"

"What's…" Hikaru's mouth hung open for so long that it was almost comical.

"Don't you remember?" Kendra asked, then with a furtive glance to the side, "—er, I'm asking strictly for medical reasons, you understand…"

"Remember what?"

Hikaru croaked. "They…they dragged you out of here…you were gone for hours…"

"Hour," Kendra corrected with a wince. "Singular."

"Yeah, I know," I said, unable to understand my own calmness. "I'm not going to forget in a hurry."

"So…" Hikaru seemed at a rare loss for words. "So you _know_ what's wrong. They toss you back in here, beaten bloody, completely delirious, and you ask what's _wrong_?"

"Well," I said, confused, and slightly embarrassed for his sake to point out the obvious in front of Kendra. "You were crying."

"Of _course_ I was crying, you idiot!" Hikaru didn't seem at all embarrassed. "Have you seen yourself?"

I lifted one hand to feel my jaw—and then saw that two of my fingers were splinted. Oh, right. That had been particularly painful. "I'd rather not."

"Ugh, you _boys…_ " Kendra looked disgusted. She started sweeping bloodied gauze and half-filled tubes of cream back into her bag. "Cut the dramatic soap-opera crap, would you? Kaoru, Hikaru wants to know _why_ they beat you bloody because—believe it or not—" with a definite glare in Hikaru's direction, "—they actually don't tell me much and I actually have no clue. And you're his brother and he loves you so he's traumatized seeing you like this, and quite frankly we're both shocked that you seem to be taking it so well." She got up off the bed. "You're not in any danger of dying, don't worry, these people are experienced. The pain'll get worse before it gets better, I'm afraid. I'll try to convince them to get you some aspirin with your meals." She stomped out of the room.

"What's with her?" I complained gingerly, trying to move my jaw as little as possible. Hikaru just continued to stare at me. "They didn't tell me anything," I said.

"So they what, just took you into a room and beat you?"

I shut my eyes, trying to remember. I still felt strangely calm. Strangely grounded. The world, at this moment, felt very real.

A little cold spot came to life in my stomach as I recalled a cold, sightless eye and a flashing red light. "They filmed it."

" _WHAT?_ " Hikaru looked even more horrified.

The cold spot grew. "And did you hear what they said when they were taking me out? 'Blame your parents.' They told us to blame Mom and Dad."

Hikaru slumped, his forehead resting on his knee. "Goddamn it. There _is_ a ransom."

I studied his tousled head. He needed a haircut. "If it's a ransom, why haven't they paid it yet?"

Hikaru's voice was muffled. "Because they're dicks?"

I shifted my position—that was a mistake. I continued to think out loud as my eyes watered. "That's not a good enough reason, even for them. Whatever they're asking for, it's something Mom and Dad aren't willing to pay."

*

Hikaru and I had switched places. Now he was the paranoid one, starting at every sound, glaring into space, muttering to himself under his breath, scribbling madly in the notebook.

"What do they want?" he hissed in my ear in the middle of the night, the blanket over both of our heads, trying to be careful and not jostle me and always failing; I gritted my teeth and bore it. "We're missing something. We're missing _something._ "

"What to kidnappers always want?" I always whispered bag. "Money. Power. Fame. Recognition."

"Mom and Dad can give them all that. So why aren't they?" He spent a long time pondering this unanswerable question. I was nearly asleep when he tapped my shoulder (I flinched). "The thing is, why did they wait until _both_ of us were kidnapped before sending in a ransom? Why would they let the world think I was dead? Why did they pretend to kill me, wait a long time, and _then_ kidnap you?"

"You said it yourself," I said, doing my best to blink sleep away (it got easier when he moved and jostled me again). "It sounded like they meant to kill us both, when you overheard the guard, didn't you?"

"Yeah, about that! And instead they kill neither one of us! It doesn't make sense!"

"Maybe their plans changed when we were separated. You know, when you left and they lost sight of you?"

"Yeah. But why wait so long until they kidnapped you?"

I kept silent, hoping he wouldn't realize I was pretending to not have anything to say to this, but he almost immediately propped himself up on one shoulder; a bit of light snuck under the blanket. "Kaoru? What is it?"

"They couldn't exactly get to me," I said slowly. "I was in the house. With a tutor. Basically grounded."

"Oh," Hikaru breathed. "So how did they finally do it? Did an undercover guard finally make it to your room?"

"Well, no," I said uncomfortably. "I left."

"You left the house? After I had been assassinated?? Why?"

I would have scowled if it hadn't made my face hurt. "You wouldn't have lasted two weeks without sneaking out."

"Yeah, but I'm the stupid one."

"It wasn't like I wasn't planning on going back!" I protested. "I only meant to go out for a couple hours!"

"What for? Rebellion?"

"No." I didn't want to tell him this. The memory of it made me feel dirty. But Hikaru would know I was lying. He always knew when I was lying. "I was visiting…someone."

"Who?"

I sighed. "You remember that maid? The one we used to joke about being a runway model in her spare time?"

"Yeah, but….no. You weren't."

I told him. He was silent for a long time. Then, "What. The. Hell. _Kaoru._ " I said nothing. "What were you _thinking?_ Oh, my _god._ What were you _thinking_?"

Blood was pounding in the cuts on my face. I turned my head away from him. "You were dead. I didn't really care. And I was visiting her to tell her to leave me alone."

"Oh my _god._ "

"You don't have to rub it in," I snapped, my face throbbing as I glared at the blanket over my face. "I wish it hadn't happened, all right?"

Hikaru was silent for a long time. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry." He sounded a little too calm. "Just…goddammit. Cougars? _Really_? Is the entire goddamn universe out to get us?"

Just then, the door opened. "Rise and shine, my little bluebirds."

Hikaru flung the blanket off our faces; the stifling air evaporated, but I winced as the light sliced my eyes. " _What_ did you just call us?"

"Is it morning already?" I mumbled, covering my eyes with one arm.

"Three a.m. on the dot," said Kendra. "Thought you might like some more aspirin."

I slowly pushed myself up. "Okay. Thanks."

"Kaoru, are you just going to ignore the fact that she called us 'her little bluebirds'?"

"What can I say, I'm very maternal," said Kendra dryly. She handed me two little paper cups. There were very dark shadows under her eyes. "My boys are growing up so fast, getting into fights at school and everything." I tossed the pills into my mouth and took a swig of water as she continued, "Soon you'll be heading off to college and everything, assuming the bullies don't kill you first."

I choked. Kendra slapped my back and I yelped. But I looked up and met Hikaru's eyes, and they were just as confused as mine. What had gotten into our nurse?

"Yessir," said Kendra, snatching the cups back from me. "Six years at Springton University and I get to play Nanny to two bratty red-haired devil-twins. Don't you wish you had my life?" With that, she stomped from the room and probably would have slammed the door behind her if it hadn't been much too heavy to slam. It shut with a soft click as always.

Hikaru and I just stared at each other without speaking, but we were silently asking each other the same two questions.

 _What was that all about?_ And, _Springton University? Where have we heard that name before?_

*

Kyoya strode into the room where the other Club member sat in chairs and on the floor. A single barred window on the opposite wall. They sprang up at the sight of him.

"Kyo-chan, what happened?"

"Can we go now?"

"Senpei, what's going on?"

Kyoya ignored all of their questions; he seated himself in a hard-backed chair against the wall and crossed his legs. "Start talking. We need to know who would be sending the Hitachiins death threats and why, who might these mysterious people be threatening to kill and why the Hitachiins should care, what they are demanding and why the Hitachiins won't give it, and why is it such a secret. Go."

They gave him all blank-eyed stares.

"Should we talk about this here?" Haruhi broke the silence. "If the police think we're the ones behind it they'll be listening to everything we say and try to use it against us."

"There's nothing we can say that will change what's happening," said Kyoya firmly. "They will find some sort of evidence against us even if they have to pull it out of their asses. Now _think_."

"Well," said Honey, squeezing his rabbit tightly. "If the Hitachiins don't want to give something up, it would have to be very important to them. And if someone is threatening them, it must be someone who hates them very much. The people who killed Hikaru and Kaoru must hate them very much."

Just then, the door opened. Kyoya glanced up. A very subdued-looking Tamaki entered.

"Hi, Tama-chan," said Honey. "Were you arrested too?"

"None of us have been arrested," said Haruhi quickly. "Not yet."

"The maid," said Mori. They all looked at him. Tamaki wandered over to the window and leaned against the sill, gazing out at it.

"What maid?" asked Honey.

Kyoya rubbed his eyes. They were beginning to ache. He needed more caffeine soon. "He means Utano Usami. The Hitachiins' maid who disappeared when Kaoru did. She's the only person we can't account for at all."

Mori nodded. Haruhi propped her head in her hands. "Our only lead, then?"

"Kyoya," said Tamaki suddenly from the window. "Can I borrow your phone? The battery on mine died."

Kyoya tossed it to him. Tamaki caught it and leaned against the wall, absorbed in his own world as the conversation resumed.

"But if we couldn't find anything about her before, how can we find anything about her now?" Haruhi asked.

"Well, the police are listening in," said Kyoya dryly. "Maybe they'll take a hint and do it for us – and hopefully be more successful." He rubbed his eyes again.

"Senpei, you need to sleep."

Kyoya sighed. "Thank you for that _astute_ observation, Miss Fujioka. Unfortunately, it's only a matter of time before we are officially arrested and we may only have a very short window of time to relay instructions and/or put our lives in order before such luxuries as cell phones and other communication networks are confiscated." The Club got his silent message; Kasanoda and Shiro were the two who hadn't been brought in. Kasanoda was probably too difficult for the police to get their hands on without a large armed force, and Kyoya doubted they knew about Shiro. The Club could give these two instructions, if only they could figure out what to do.

"Kyoya?" Tamaki appeared at his elbow and was holding out the cell phone. An English webpage was pulled up, and it was asking for a username and password.

"But, Senpei," Haruhi asked as Kyoya impatiently hacked it for him and Tamaki retreated back to the window. "Komatsu arrested me before and you got me out. Why is this time different?"

"He was simply trying to be impressive before. Now his job is on the line."

"So what should we do?" Honey leaned against Mori's side and Mori put his arm around him. "If we can't leave, and we can't investigate anything—"

"Oh, I didn't say we weren't leaving," said Kyoya coolly. "Only that our time of freedom will be very short after we do."

"I need to tell my dad," Haruhi mumbled. "He'll be worried sick…and I'll have to stop my internship…put in a call to my job…this has gotten way too big…"

"It was already too big, Haruhi," snapped Kyoya. "We've just been the unfortunate ones to uncover it. Now, I ask you all again to think… _what_ could these people possibly be threatening?"

"Reputation," said Mori solemnly.

"Exposing illegal activities," said Honey cheerfully. "Money laundering? Threats of their own?"

"Haruhi?" Kyoya demanded.

Haruhi shook herself and raised her head with a sigh. "I don't know, Senpei. We've gone over every possibility and none of them have any proof."

Kyoya was mildly surprised that Tamaki wasn't eagerly diving in with theories about adultery and secret children or the like, but he didn't dwell on it. The nagging questions wouldn't leave him alone. "What's perplexing is that the Hitachiins have been receiving these messages for at least two weeks now. Why can't or won't they do anything about it?"

"Hey," Haruhi sat bolt upright. "These people threatening the Hitachiins – whoever they are – must be asking for something big, right? It's so big the Hitachiins haven't given into them. But they must also be threatening something horrible, right? That would explain why it's a secret. The Hitachiins aren't willing to pay, but maybe they _should_ be willing to pay, and the right thing to do _is_ paying whatever the people are asking for. But they don't want the world to know that they're refusing to pay the price."

"Maybe they're terrorists," mused Honey, "And they will blow up a village if the Hitachiins don't give them all of their money."

Something else occurred to Kyoya. "Why haven't they gone public?" he muttered to himself.

"I just said—" Haruhi began.

"Not the Hitachiins. The…'terrorists.' If the Hitachiins won't pay because they don't have to, why don't the terrorists simply go public and force them to pay? Why do both parties want this to occur in secret?"

Silence fell as they all pondered this new development.

"What are you doing, Tama-chan?" asked Honey suddenly.

Tamaki started as if he'd been caught stealing and flailed as he nearly dropped Kyoya's phone. "Nothing," he said, going red.

Haruhi looked up. "What are you looking up? Something useful?"

"It's a theory." Tamaki's blush deepened.

Haruhi frowned. "What theory?"

"I can't…" Tamaki stammered. Kyoya looked at him through narrowed eyes. Since when was Tamaki ever reluctant to share a ludicrous theory of his? "I don't think I should share. Not now, until I'm sure."

"Why?" Haruhi looked just as startled as Kyoya felt.

"It's…private," Tamaki said. "It's not mine to share."

Kyoya scowled. "What's gotten into you?" Then, as Tamaki turned a delicate shade of reddish purple, he raised a hand. "Never mind. I don't want to know. What's important is that nobody wants this secret to get out – whatever this secret is. We need to find out what it is." He pondered a moment more. "Perhaps, if whatever the terrorists are threatening was brought to light, they would be risking exposing themselves. Perhaps they have revealed to the Hitachiins who they are."

"Or maybe," said Honey excitedly, bouncing up and down. "Maybe somebody else in the world knows who the terrorists are and if the terrorists go public the somebody else could figure out who they are!"

Kyoya sat very still. He was so deliriously exhausted that he had to resist the urge to proclaim Honey as the only sensible one in the group.

Tamaki looked ready to burst—he was making sputtering, gurgling noises—but, incredibly, somehow…he was still holding his tongue. Haruhi stared at him. "Senpei, do _you_ know what they're threatening?" Tamaki squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Do you know who they are?" Tamaki shook his head again. Then he turned his back, hunched his shoulders, and continued tapping on Kyoya's phone.

"Senpei," said Haruhi, looking at Kyoya. "You said earlier we had to find out who these people might be threatening to kill. You think it's not the Hitachiins themselves?"

Kyoya watched spots dancing on the walls. He needed sleep. "The most heavily guarded couple in the world right now? No."

"Who else would the Hitachiins care about dying?" asked Honey. "Their sons are already dead."

Something slid into place in Kyoya's mind. It happened so easily and so smoothly that he didn't feel at all shocked—merely surprised that he hadn't thought of it before. "They never found Kaoru's body."

The atmosphere in the room froze. Tamaki stopped tapping. Kyoya felt very cold.

"What?" Haruhi whispered.

His vision was going fuzzy. "One of the twins might still be alive."

And with that, Kyoya deliberately rested his head against the wall and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....aaaaaand we're off once more!
> 
> Just for future reference, you guys, I will let you all know when I'm abandoning/orphaning a fic (something I have never done before). I won't leave you hanging. So if I haven't updated in a while it's only because something in real life is preventing me from doing so and I *will* return eventually.
> 
> I don't know when the next update will be but I sincerely doubt it'll be as long as this last gap was.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Updated notes: there will be an update sometime in the next week! :)


	19. An Entirely Useless Half-Baked Plan

_Springton University._ We both wracked our brains, and neither of us could remember why it sounded so familiar. We didn't dare talk about it much; all of our conversations were recorded, and if Kendra had tried to give us a hint—

" _Did_ she, though?" I said in a whisper that barely carried across the short distance from my mouth to Hikaru's ear; we were hiding under the blanket again.

"Definitely." Hikaru's breath buffeted my face. "I know her. She treated my shoulder for longer than she needed to. I think she thought that as long as they thought I was sick they would leave us alone."

"Do you think she's really trying to help us?"

"Sshhh!"

We stopped talking; we weren't sure how sensitive the cameras and microphones in our room were, and neither of us wanted Kendra to get into trouble. The next several hours crawled by. Kendra came in again, checked the splint on my hand, and then went white and nearly bit Hikaru's head off when he sarcastically (and hopefully) questioned her how many schools she applied to before she was accepted into Springton U.

Hikaru paced; I think it crawled into the next day.

"Those bastards!" Hikaru burst out. "What are they _waiting_ for?" He meant our parents. I was wondering the same thing.

I took a turn trying the next time she came in. "Hey, Kendra, seeing as you're now our adopted mom, what do _you_ think we should do with the rest of our lives?"

"Doesn't matter," said Kendra shortly, examining my splint. Then she looked into my eyes. Her own were red-rimmed and lined with shadows and uncharacteristic wrinkles. "Only one of you has to do anything. As long as one of you exists, you're fine."

I was caught off-guard; I hadn't expected her to actually answer me. "Huh?"

Kendra's jaw worked in and out. In and out. "You're twins, aren't you? And you're the youngest. You're the spare." She ripped a band-aid off my face; I yelped. "Don't be such a baby." She got up and stalked from the room. I turned around. Hikaru was staring at me, white-faced. Then I understood what Kendra had tried to tell me.

I was the spare.

Beating me hadn't helped. If our parents continued to do nothing, they might kill me.

*

Tamaki waited until they were released; he waited until he and Kyoya had made it to the front sidewalk; and then he waited until Kyoya gave orders to the others to wait for his call. Then Tamaki opened his mouth to say, "Kyoya, I need to talk to you," but at the same time Kyoya said in a dark mutter,

"Tamaki, seeing as we probably have about twenty-four hours until Komatsu sends out a warrant for at least _one_ of our arrests, now would be an excellent time to tell what the hell is going on with you." Tamaki opened his mouth again to answer, but Kyoya interrupted him again. "But wait one moment; we have a tail." He grabbed Tamaki's arm and pulled him forward at a brisk pace, waving away the taxi that had pulled up for them both. Tamaki glanced over his shoulder.

"Don't look for him. That won't help him go away. Speak quickly, and quietly. What happened?"

Tamaki pulled his gaze away from the tail, wondering what would happen when his grandmother found out what was happening. He shook his head; that didn't matter. He had to think about the twins. "I found one of their old housekeepers. Assistant housekeepers."

Kyoya released Tamaki's arm and walked with his hands in his pocket, looking straight ahead. The reflection on his glasses hid his eyes from view. He and Tamaki slipped through the evening commoner crowd unnoticed. "Uh-huh. And? What were you looking up on my phone?"

Tamaki fidgeted, twisting his fingers through each other. "It's kind of difficult to explain."

"Try. We don't have a lot of time."

"The thing is, you _must_ keep it a secret, Kyoya, unless it's _absolutely_ necessary."

Kyoya glanced to the side. The sheen from his glasses disappeared, revealing his narrowed eyes. "And why is that?"

"Because it's private."

"Why does that matter?"

Tamaki took a deep breath. "Because Hikaru and Kaoru never told us. _Any_ of us. They must have wanted to keep it a secret."

"But seeing as the twins are both dead, that hardly matters, does it?"

"Of course it does!" Tamaki balled his hands into fists. "It matters even more now! And even if it wouldn't, you said yourself – Kaoru might still be alive! It might still matter to him!"

"Well, it won't much longer if he's killed while we deliberate about his privacy. Do you have anything to say about what's happened or not?"

"All right, all right." Tamaki glanced over his shoulder again; he couldn't help it. The tail was a good way behind, he couldn't hear if Tamaki spoke softly. "The twins had a nanny. She started when they were about six and left right before they went into middle school. Toki Maki – that's the assistant housekeeper I found – she was suspicious of…well, she thinks…she doesn't know what she did to them, but it wasn't good. They were terrified of her."

"Well," said Kyoya in an unconcerned, impatient manner. "Maybe that was good. Everybody knows the twins were terrors themselves."

"Not this way. You know how Hikaru and Kaoru are – they didn't care about anybody else in middle school, they could be kind of, well…"

"Cruel," said Kyoya shortly.

Tamaki acquiesced. "Cruel. But with her – they always did what she said, they never questioned it. Toki Maki said it was an almost magical transformation from what they were like before she was hired."

"I still fail to see how that's a bad thing."

"Because Hikaru and Kaoru _wouldn't_ do that unless she was doing _something_ to terrify them into perfect obedience. She made them call her Kijo, for one thing." "Kijo" meant female demon. Tamaki felt ill just thinking about it. Kyoya didn't seem affected by this disturbing factoid, but he didn't contradict Tamaki again. "Anyway. She came highly recommended. She had been nanny to other rich families before. But after Hikaru and Kaoru, she disappeared. They could never prove anything, and even very few of the staff knew, and the ones who did know – Toki Maki included – were sworn to secrecy…"

"Are you dramatizing this, Tamaki? Because I really don't have the time to sort through your dramatics and separate fact from fantasy."

"I am _not_ dramatizing _anything,_ Kyoya! I wouldn't do that! Not to Hikaru and Kaoru!"

Kyoya glanced at him. Then he inclined his head and Tamaki continued, wringing his hands. "When they were eleven, Toki Maki found Kaoru passed out at the top of the stairs, not breathing. He had a syringe of heroin with him." Kyoya stumbled, and quickly recovered. "Kijo had been out on the grounds with Hikaru. After she found out what had happened she grabbed her things and fled. They got Kaoru to the hospital just in time. After Kaoru woke up, the twins both claimed they had gotten the drugs from her handbag. But again, they couldn't prove anything. And the twins refused to say anything about anything else she may have been doing to them." Tamaki couldn't continue; he fell silent, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Tamaki, I am aware this is very upsetting for you to recall, but could you please get to the point? How is this relevant?"

Kyoya was right. _Get a hold of yourself._ Tamaki took a deep breath. "I used your phone to look up her records, some of the other families she'd been nannying for. One of them is a young French man I met once. He was in the news for several weeks a few years ago because his business got turned upside down – "

"So?"

"And then Mori mentioned Utano Usami – the Hitachiin maid who disappeared when Kaoru did?"

"If you try to tell me she must be the same person, Tamaki, I may throttle you."

"No, no, nothing like that. I did a search of her name on a whim, just to remind myself of what we had found on her. She was a university dropout."

"So?" Kyoya tugged briefly on his elbow and they turned down a more crowded street; as they did so, Kyoya glanced behind them, no doubt to see if the policeman was still tailing them. "Are you suggesting that university dropouts have a plan to undermine the Hitachiins?"

"I recognized the university she attended. Springton, in southern California."

"And?"

"And that's the same university that the French businessman went to. I remember because it was featured in all the news stories; it's very prestigious. Do you remember why he was in the news?"

"Tamaki, I don't even know to which young man you're referring. How could I know what he was in the news for?"

"Kyoya, we talked about it!" Tamaki grabbed his friend's shoulder in his earnestness; he was astonished Kyoya didn't remember. "He's the one who sold his business to Domenic Grennich for no reason! Remember? He fell apart, sold the family business, and now he's broke and dropped out of public life!"

Kyoya's shoulder stiffened, but his voice was calm. "That's very…odd."

"So I looked up the university then," said Tamaki eagerly. "And I compared it with the all the lists of the Hitachiin employees we had. There was another one - Haruto Sato!"

Kyoya stopped so abruptly that Tamaki walked a few steps without him. He turned. Kyoya stared past his face, eyes unfocused. "…the guard Kaoru bribed to let him out of the Hitachiin mansion before he disappeared."

"Yes! Exactly!" Tamaki stabbed a finger in the air. "I tried to find Kijo, then, but that of course isn't her real name – nobody would actually be named _Kijo_ …"

"Tamaki," said Kyoya very softly. "You may just be the luckiest idiot alive."

Tamaki felt a rush of pleasure, then he slapped himself out of his reverie; it wasn't important. "I'm not finished. I searched the university's site then, trying to find something. I looked up the scholarship program that the French man attended – it's a very selective program, that only a very few people can get into. A lot of times they are young, wealthy geniuses – like the French man – and then sometimes they are poor commoners. There doesn't seem to be a correlation between _what_ they're studying and whether they get the scholarship; one of the recent graduates was a medical student, for example. But it's anonymously funded, and it's very hard to find the sponsor—unless you have your best friend's phone that has been programmed to hack into basically everything."

"Let me guess," said Kyoya, but Tamaki, who had been bursting to tell this secret for the entirety of the story, didn't let him.

"It's Domenic Grennich, Kyoya. He sponsors the students." He waited. Kyoya didn't answer. "Kyoya? Are you okay? You've gone all rigid."

"Springton University," Kyoya muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket – the non-emergency number phone, Tamaki noted. The battery life was greatly reduced, thanks to his searches earlier and a chaotic day of Kyoya's constant use. But there was enough left to perform a quick internet search, and Kyoya turned his back to the sun to shield the screen from its rays. Their tail was now leaning against the wall a short distance away; Kyoya ignored him. Tamaki peeked at the screen. Kyoya was reading a news article from back in April that was reporting on part of a weeklong grand meeting of various large corporations and investors, held in the United States.

"Kyoya?" Tamaki edged closer and poked his head over his friend's shoulder. Kyoya shut the phone off and slid it into his pocket. "What is it?"

"The twins met Grennich at the conference they attended where Hikaru was shot. Grennich insinuated to this reporter that they would attend Springton University."

"Kyoya," Tamaki trembled. "We have to tell someone. Don't we? We know who's responsible now."

"We have no proof. This is all circumstantial. And, frankly, ludicrous. And it still doesn't explain why he – if the culprit is indeed Grennich – decided to kill the twins."

"But Kyoya…!"

"I said it was ludicrous, Tamaki, not that it was wrong."

"But we have to do _something._ If Komatsu pins blame on us – if we get caught up in trying to prove our own innocence – "

"You're forgetting something, Tamaki. We have approximately twenty-four hours."

"What can we possibly do in twenty-four hours?" Tamaki wailed, getting strange looks from passers-by. Kyoya gave him a warning look and he lowered his voice again. "How can we prove anything in twenty-four hours? If we're going to be arrested –"

"Who said anything about being arrested?" said Kyoya shortly.

"But you said – "

"I said a warrant would be let out for at least one of our arrests. No, my friend, I think we have progressed beyond the point of actually being arrested." Kyoya glanced at his watch; Tamaki could see the wheels turning. "I think it's time we left the country." 

*

_Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic._

_Don't **panic?!**_

Hikaru took a deep breath.

_Don't panic,_ he told himself firmly.

_We should switch roles!_ Said the more panicky part of his mind. _We should pretend that we were pretending all along and **I'm** Kaoru and **he's** Hikaru! He won't be targeted then!_

_They'll never fall for that. Don’t panic! Think!_

Hikaru dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Hikaru?"

Hikaru dropped his hands and his shoulders slumped. "I thought you were asleep." Supper had been hours ago; it had to be midnight by now (under the assumption, of course, that they were feeding them at a normal dinner-hour). Hikaru turned around slowly, gaze sweeping across Kaoru's purple-mottled face. At least the swelling had gone down. The cut across his cheek was healing as well.

"Aspirin's not really helping." Kaoru sat up slowly, grabbing the pillows. Hikaru went forward.

"I'll do that." He arranged the thin cushions against the wall so Kaoru could lean against them.

Kaoru studied him. "Are you okay?"

_No!_ "Yeah. Of course." He couldn't worry Kaoru; Kaoru's state of mind was fragile enough as it was. Hikaru put his hands in his pockets and stared at the opposite wall.

_Don't panic._

Kaoru, despite the bruising on his face and his hand in a splint, did not look fragile. He sat looking up at Hikaru with a slight frown. Hikaru bit the inside of his lip. They were not going to get to Kaoru again. They would have to go through him first. They would have to _kill_ him first.

_Please,_ he begged silently, staring up at the ceiling. _Kill me first. Whatever you do, kill me first._

He couldn't take it. This fear was bad enough; this fear paralyzed him. If they took Kaoru – he couldn't bear it. He couldn't. He couldn't. Kaoru had survived when they had killed Hikaru.

If they killed Kaoru…

Hikaru felt momentarily calm, and then intense panic that he _felt_ so calm when he was fairly certain about what he would do if they killed Kaoru. Hikaru was positive he would kill himself.

Kaoru's fingers from his good hand touched Hikaru's wrist. They encircled it, pulling gently until his hand slipped out of his pocket. Kaoru's fingers interlaced with his. Hikaru sank down onto the bed next to him, slouching in defeat. He leaned towards his twin, closing his eyes as they touched foreheads.

His whisper was inaudible, but it reached Kaoru's soul all the same. " _We have to get out of here._ "

He listened to Kaoru's breathing; it was slow, and thoughtful. And then Kaoru said suddenly, "Do you have a crush on Kendra?"

Hikaru straightened, some of the worry driven away by complete bewilderment. His forehead furrowed. "Wha?"

Kaoru looked steadily at him. "Do you like Kendra?" And then, almost imperceptibly, his hand squeezed Hikaru's. Then Hikaru received the true message. (They hadn't practiced telepathy in a long time; he was slow on the uptake.) Kaoru was really asking, _Can we trust Kendra?_

"She's all right," said Hikaru. _I think so. She doesn't want us here, she doesn't like being here herself. She's already risked herself by giving us hints. She hasn't done that in the entire time I've been here._

"I like her too," said Kaoru seriously. _I agree._ "Maybe we should take her out. Both of us." _Literally. Like, judo-style._

"That's an idea. She might like that." _She wants us to escape, but she doesn't want to get in trouble for helping us._

"If we ever get out of here," said Kaoru.

Hikaru bit the inside of his lip again. "Well, she definitely likes us, as she gets up in the middle of the night to give you aspirin." _Next time she comes here in the middle of the night._

"Definitely." Kaoru yawned, and squeezed his hand again. _It's a plan._ A half-baked plan. An entirely useless plan. A plan to get out of the room when they had next to no idea what was on the other side or what was on the outside of the building; Hikaru had been unconscious when they arrived. Kaoru had been unconscious part of the way, and then blindfolded inside a van the rest of the way.

They both slid down the wall onto their backs. Hikaru slipped his arm over Kaoru's chest and pulled him close; his other hand brushed against Kaoru's cheek. Kaoru's splinted hand gripped Hikaru's elbow so hard it was painful. Foreheads and noses touching, they stared slightly cross-eyed at each other, breathing each other's breath, and savoring the closeness while they could.

Hikaru felt astonishingly resigned.

He spoke in that same silent whisper that Kaoru could hear. "I love you."

Kaoru blinked. They told each other every day, of course. In every touch, in every conversation they had, in the long look they were giving each other now. But he felt the sudden pressing necessity of speaking it now.

"You too," said Kaoru.

_We are going to get caught,_ Hikaru thought. _These bastards are going to kill us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for another update next week! ^_^


	20. Tasted Like Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING
> 
> So as you guys know, this fic is rated M. This chapter and those following are the reason. Because this is a WIP, I don't know *exactly* what will follow or exactly how intense it will get. I don't think it'll be as intense an M as some fics are, but I personally feel it gets past a T rating. (I can say with 100% certainty it will not delve into E.) 
> 
> So (without spoilers) be warned that this chapter contains some blood and brief thoughts of suicide. And from this point forward, most chapters will probably contain more mature elements like blood and (probably all off-screen) torture, suicidal thoughts, thoughts about self-harm, on-screen or off-screen self-harm, tales of psychological child abuse, and perhaps some other elements as well. I will place more specific warnings before each chapter. Just know that it gets more intense from here on out. 
> 
> Cheers!

Hikaru stayed awake when Kaoru slipped off to sleep. He closed his eyes, visualizing himself hurting Kendra. It wasn't a pleasant image; he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was one he pushed to the side.

_Think about Kaoru._

_They are not going to get to Kaoru._

And besides, if they were going to keep Kendra out of trouble, it had to look real. It had to _be_ real. She had to be hurt; she had to be incapacitated, she had to be incapable of calling for help, of chasing them across the room.

_Click._

Hikaru started, horror spilling through him.

_Too soon._

_Too soon! We're not ready!_

The door was opening. Kaoru's hand squeezed Hikaru's elbow. Adrenaline slammed into his gut as he realized that Kaoru hadn't been sleeping after all.

"Rise and shine," said Kendra in a dull voice. "Medicine time."

The twins didn't move. Hikaru felt as if he were spellbound; that this moment was vitally important. He opened his eyes stared into Kaoru's for a long moment – like it was the last moment they were going to have.

Then Kendra's shadow fell over both of them; the spell broke. As if watching himself in slow motion and from a distance, Hikaru saw himself release Kaoru. He saw himself jump up so quickly that Kendra stepped back, her eyes going wide. He saw himself with merciless, deadly necessity and without regret or hesitation, take her face in between his hands and throw her with brutal violence against the concrete wall.

_Crack._

Kendra's eyes rolled back in her head; she slipped down and crumpled to the ground. Hikaru's spirit jumped back into his body. But he didn't have time to feel horrified about what he'd done; he didn't have time to dwell on the gasp that Kaoru had emitted.

_We are getting out of here._

No alarms were going off. The silence was deafening. Hikaru knelt down and searched through Kendra's pockets; he took out her cell phone and the card she used to enter and exit the room and pulled the taser from her belt. He threw these items behind him, assuming Kaoru would catch them, and opened her medical bag. Kendra's head lolled forward, exposing the back of her head. Blood tangled her hair. Hikaru took out the KT medical tape he was so familiar with. He felt the adrenaline surging through his veins, and maybe that's why it was so easy to gag her and tie her hands and wrists with it, pulling it dangerously tight so that her hands immediately began to change color.

"Hikaru," Kaoru croaked.

Hikaru stood and turned to his brother. "They'll find her. Come on." He grabbed the taser, card, and phone from his twin. He turned on the screen – no signal. It was locked, but there was an emergency-call option. He slipped it into his pocket. Kaoru still seemed frozen, and he stared at Kendra looking like he might be sick. Hikaru set his jaw and refused to look himself. "Come _on._ "

_They are not going to get you._

He grabbed his brother, hauled him to his feet. Dragged him to the door. Swiped the card.

_Click._

Hikaru pulled it open, poked his head out into the deserted, darkened metal hallway. Stepped out. Pulled Kaoru after him. The door shut. One ceiling light turned on as it sensed his movement.

_Beep. Click._

Locked. Kaoru was breathing loudly. Hikaru grabbed him around the waist, looked him in the eyes, and then they both began to run. More lights flickered on as they dashed through. Kaoru grunted with pain, but he pressed his lips together and his eyes were bright and he didn't complain. Hikaru suddenly realized sweat was making his shirt stick to his back, his shoulder was hurting for the first time in a long time, and he had no idea whether they were going towards an exit or not. Kaoru's hand slipped into Hikaru's pocket. Pulled out the phone. Checked the screen. Put the phone in his own pocket. Apparently still no signal.

They reached a fork.

"Right," Kaoru hissed.

"What?"

"Go right. I remember this."

They went right. The hall ended in narrow, spiral metal stairs. Hikaru dislodged from Kaoru and raced up them, Kaoru close behind, gasping in pain. The floor one flight up looked exactly the same. Hikaru started to continue.

"No," Kaoru said through gritted teeth. "It's this level."

Hikaru didn't question him; Kaoru had been through here more recently, after all. They crept down the hall. Kaoru's footsteps shuffled as he limped, one hand pressed against his side. Hikaru turned. Kaoru shook his head and waved his hand, telling Hikaru to continue, face grim.

Desperation suddenly spurted through Hikaru, waking him out of his determined daze.

This was their one chance to get out of here. This was their one chance to save both of their lives. Hikaru started running again; Kaoru kept up with him, his face ashen.

They burst into a large room without slowing. It was clear, filled with wide, white counters and what looked like scientific equipment—great tall machines, little countertop ones, all cold, all silent, and empty glass-fronted cabinets–

Hikaru ran into the guard almost before he saw him, and only an instant after the guard saw him. Hikaru didn't think; he used the taser. The guard went stiff and fell and then Hikaru grabbed his head and smashed it against the floor like he'd done with Kendra. His hands were shaking now.

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Run._

The guard had a gun in his belt. Neither of the twins knew how to use one. Hikaru grabbed it anyway. He turned to Kaoru, who only glanced momentarily at the unconscious guard as he caught up to Hikaru, gripping one of the counters for support. "Where to now?" Hikaru hissed. Kaoru shrugged and looked helpless. So Hikaru grabbed his brother's shoulder and they both ran again. They found another flight of stairs – a side one – and they both sprinted up it. Kaoru's pained noises were getting fewer in-between; fear was taking over both of them.

Freedom was getting closer.

_Run._

Inexplicably, Haruhi's face flashed in Hikaru's head. Then the other hosts' faces. Their friends. The only friends they'd ever had. Haruhi's smile, Tamaki's eyes, Kyoya's notebook snapping shut, Honey's laugh, Mori's expressive silence. Flash, flash, flash. Round and round they went as they fled up stairs, ran down hallways, found more stairs.

 _Haruhi,_ thought Hikaru.

Then the fire alarm went off.

Kaoru stumbled and whimpered. Sweat dripped into Hikaru's eyes. They'd found Kendra. Or the guard. Or both. The lights in the hall all turned on at once; they kept running. Footsteps up ahead. Hikaru dropped Kaoru's arm, ran around the corner, ran headlong into somebody in a mauve sweater.

_Tamaki's eyes._

He pulled the trigger; the shot exploded in his ears, blood darkened the sweater. The man sagged against the wall, screaming for help. They found more stairs; they ran up them. More pounding footsteps. A woman saw them, ran in the other direction, shouting.

_Kyoya's notebook snapping shut._

Kaoru's hand closed on Hikaru's arm, suddenly yanking him to the side. Hikaru only briefly had time to see the exit sign before air – fresh, wet, outdoors, nighttime air – hit his face.

_Honey's laugh._

They had gone up too far; they were on a fire escape. Only two flights up. Hikaru didn't hesitate. He leapt down one flight, and then jumped over the edge. Kaoru followed. Hikaru's ankle twisted on hitting the ground but he didn't care. They were running blindly, their ankles tangled in short grass and shrubbery; the dark shapes of thick clusters of tall, thin trees slashed the starry sky above them. No moon. They plunged into the shadow of the trunks. The light of the phone as Kaoru opened it again. He was trying to call as Hikaru blindly led him by the wrist.

_Flash._

An outdoor building light lit up the area behind them. Beams of light stabbed the darkness around them. Shouting. Hikaru lurched to the side, shoving Kaoru ahead of him.

_Mori's expressive silence._

Darkness again. Hikaru slipped and fell, Kaoru's wrist tore from his hand, and he was falling down a slope, rolling head over heels, flailing as he tried to find his feet and keep running. He found his feet. Then someone shone a flashlight in his face. Hikaru whirled. Fingers tore at his shirt. Hikaru struck out. His nails dug into something wet and soft. His knee made contact with something hard. The hand let go. Hikaru plunged forward, fighting back the trees, grasping behind him for his twin. His fingers closed on air.

"This way, Kaoru. _This way._ "

He tripped. Rolled. Silence and darkness.

Not darkness; there were voices. Far off voices. Hikaru rolled onto his stomach, got onto his knees.

"Kaoru. _Kaoru._ "

There was no answer. Hikaru jumped to his feet, whisper hoarse and terrified. _"Kaoru._ " His clothes were wet; the earth was wet. Hikaru slogged through the damp trees, his heart hammering in his throat. He stopped and listened. He continued onwards. He whispered. _"Kaoru._ "

There were lights and he dodged behind a tree and sank down onto his knees, grabbing handfuls of wet leaves as he crouched and tried to breathe quietly and hear Kaoru. Maybe telepathy would save them.

_Where are you, Kaoru?_

_Where are you?_

It felt very strange being outside. The room felt distant and dream-like. The fact that they had made it this far was – unfathomable. Stunning.

" _Kaoru!”_

He had lost the gun. Hikaru did not remember dropping it. He crept through the trees again. Lights – the building they had escaped from. It was squat, unassuming, in the middle of nowhere. _Where are we?_ He stared at it hard. There was a little gravel driveway on one side; a little gravel road.

Their telepathy wasn't working, but Kaoru was smart. He would head for the road if he saw the road. Hikaru melted back into the shadows of the trees and tried to go towards it.

It felt wrong.

This felt wrong.

Would Kaoru have even seen this road? Was he running deeper into the forest? Hikaru looked up; between the leaves were a thousand upon a thousand stars. They must be miles upon miles away from civilization.

_We aren't going to make it._

Despair welled up. Hikaru pressed his fist to his mouth. He doubled over as if in severe pain.

Immediately and simultaneously, a gut-wrenching scream to match his pain burst through the trees. Hikaru bit down on his fist as he whirled around; blood welled around his teeth.

_No, no, no, no._

Another scream, like his very soul was being carved from him.

Hikaru's legs couldn't hold him; he fell forward, caught himself. The trees became his crutches as he blindly groped through them.

_Not Kaoru. Please, please, please, not Kaoru. Not Kaoru. Don't take Kaoru._

_Not Kaoru!_

Hikaru was meant to be the spare. He had always been the spare. _I'm the spare. Not Kaoru._

Another scream; Hikaru sobbed, and then he was running, running towards the lights he saw in the trees that were heading back towards the compound. Shouts. Shouts for him. Shouts for his name.

" _Hikaru Hitachiin!_ "

"I'm here," he tried to cry out. "Stop hurting him!" but his voice croaked, like half of his vocal cords had been slashed through. He broke through the tree line; the compound rose up. The fire escape glinted in flashlights. Silhouettes were going around to the front; Hikaru ran after, following.

Kaoru was being dragged by his collar, only half-supporting his own weight, grabbing at the hands that were clamped around the scruff of his shirt, pulling it half off him. His face had been cut. Blood flowed freely down his cheek, and there was a deep, wet wound between two of his ribs. As Hikaru got closer, still trying and failing to call out, there was a flash of a knife twisting its tip just under Kaoru's collarbone, through his shirt, and he screamed again.

"I'm here!" Hikaru shouted and it felt likes knives were going through his throat and he could taste his own blood and people materialized to grab him. "I'm _here!_ "

"No," Kaoru was moaning as he slumped. "No, no, Hikaru, you run, you were _running_ …"

"I'm here," Hikaru whispered as they were dragged back inside, and he didn't know who he was talking to. "I'm here."

Lights. Blinding lights. Shouting, blaming.

"Me," Hikaru was saying, over and over. "Me, not him. Me, not him. Me, not him."

Kaoru no longer had Kendra's phone. They were pushed into a closet; loud thumps as people or heavy things were slammed against the door. Hikaru looked around, despair numbing his senses. There were mops. Buckets. He thought dimly of fighting. He thought about drinking bleach.

"We're going to die."

Those were his thoughts, but it was Kaoru's voice. Hikaru turned. Kaoru had pressed himself into a corner, as far from the door as possible. He was on his knees. His hands were clamped around his ears, pulling, pulling, pulling like he would tear them off. He had lost his splint; the only thing around his purpled fingers were bloodstained gauze. He rocked, back and forth, back and forth, eyes bloodshot and staring, face caked with mud and blood, voice high and cracked.

"We're going to die. We're going to die. We're never getting out. We're going to die."

The bloodstains were growing; dripping from his torn cheek to splatter his shoulder, pulsing over his collarbone and soaking his collar, spreading from his ribs and plastering his shirt to his stomach.

"We're going to die. We're never getting out. We're never getting out. We're going to die. We're going to die. We're going to die."

 _Grief._ Protection. _Fury._ Denial. _Comfort._

Hikaru dropped to the ground in front of Kaoru. "Kaoru."

"We're going to die. We're going to die. We're going to die."

Hikaru grabbed his wrists. _Protection._ Denial. "Kaoru."

His head shook back and forth, his voice moaned. His eyes quivered and shuddered, focusing and un-focusing as if seeing phantoms. "We're going to die. We're going to die."

_I won't let you._

They couldn't kill Kaoru. If they killed Kaoru, Hikaru would kill himself. And they couldn't lose both the twins, so they couldn't kill Kaoru. It was logic.

_I'm the spare._

"We're going to die." Kaoru was shaking; he looked straight through Hikaru; he couldn't see him. Kaoru was looking beyond the door behind his twin. "We're going to die. We're never getting out of here. We're going to die."

Fury. _Denial._

 _Grief._ Protection.

Comfort.

Hikaru released Kaoru's wrists. He took Kaoru's face between his hands, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Kaoru shook, but he stopped rocking, and he couldn't speak with Hikaru's mouth on his. Hikaru didn't move. He closed his eyes.

Kaoru tasted like blood. Blood, and dirt, and acid.

Kaoru kept shaking.

Hikaru leaned into him. He ran his thumb along Kaoru's uncut cheek. Kaoru shuddered. Kaoru's arms sagged; his hands fell from his ears, sliding down over Hikaru's hands, and then taking Hikaru's wrists. He was still shaking.

Kaoru tasted like blood.

Hikaru didn't move back; he whispered, brushing against Kaoru's mouth, "We're getting out." He kissed Kaoru again; his upper lip. "I promise you, we're getting out." He kissed Kaoru again; his lower lip. "I won't let you die." He kissed Kaoru again, slowly. "We're getting out of here." Ever so slowly. "I won't let you die." He kissed him again and stayed still.

Kaoru tasted like blood.

Kaoru's breath shuddered through his nose. He kissed Hikaru back. Then Hikaru reluctantly pulled back so he could look his twin in the eyes.

_Every moment was precious._

He still held Kaoru's face in his hands, gently, tenderly, feeling his brother's congealing blood slip thickly and slowly over his fingers. He stared into Kaoru's eyes and Kaoru stared back, wet and despairing. And they were close enough for Kaoru to feel Hikaru's breath on his mouth as Hikaru whispered, almost inaudibly, speaking slowly, every word intentional and taking enormous effort. "We're getting out. I promise you, we're getting out. We're getting out. I won't let you die. We're getting out of here."

Whatever was against the other side of the door was loudly moved back. Kaoru's hands tightened on Hikaru's wrists; Hikaru's hands tightened on Kaoru's face. His voice remained as soft as ever. "We're getting out." More movement. "I promise you, we're getting out." Angry voices. "I won't let you die." The door knob turned. "I promise I won't let you die." The door opened and somebody stalked towards them. Neither brother moved or acknowledged the change. Kaoru gaze was fixed on Hikaru's, hanging on his every word. He didn't seem to see whomever it was walking up behind them.

_Protection._

_Grief._

_Every moment was precious._

Hikaru whispered.

"I won't let you die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably will be another update next week. I know this is a major cliffhanger so I'll try to get it out quickly, but I will be taking my time just to ensure that everything feels "correct" and true to the story before I post it.


	21. Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than I thought it would, but I felt it was important to make sure I got this one right. (It won't be all pain and suffering forever, I promise.) Tell me if the tense changes are too confusing; I felt it demonstrated Kaoru's current state of mind well, but I won't do it again if it's too distracting. 
> 
> Warnings: post-torture, descriptions of injuries, pain, blood, suicidal thoughts/plans, thoughts of death

One of Kyoya's phones rang. It was 1:35 in the morning. He paused from putting important papers in his briefcase to look at it. This was a protected number; this was a cell phone you couldn't just call accidentally. This was not the phone Tamaki had used; it was still plugged into the wall, recharging. It was a number and a name Kyoya didn't recognize. He stared at it.

This was the number he kept for emergencies.

It rang, and rang.

The name on it was Kendra Newsom.

_Strange,_ Kyoya thought.

He answered it.

There was no one on the other end.

*

They beat us bloody.

Hikaru is beaten unconscious.

Somebody is ferociously angry.

I lie on the floor, only dimly hearing the voices of people inside and outside the room. Something is letting off static. I feel wet all over; I'm not sure from what. I smell blood. And vomit. And piss.

Respectively.

It's cruel. The world is cruel. It tears at me like it tore at Hikaru; it's clawing me to shreds and there's almost nothing left. It took our parents from us, it took our friends from us, it took Hikaru from me. It yanks on my strings like a puppet, but now the puppet is broken; the strings have snapped. My vision wavers and shifts colors like that of an old TV.

I look through swollen lids at the mirror-image of a face across from mine; the Hikaru-bait they dangle in front of me. Like tiny explosions in my head, the image of blood-red nails and fangs and demon-black eyes flash before my eyes, the grey ghost of the long-gone _kijo_ hovering over me.

I'm done. It's over.

_I'm almost dead. I'm almost there._

It's a relief. The relief is cold. The world is about to kill me. Then it will be over. The pounding in my head lessens somewhat. My vision wavers again. I black out.

I awake a few moments later. My head is clearer, slightly. I know where I am; the vision of demons are gone, and that is _Hikaru_ across from me—not a vision, not a mockery, not a puppet—on his back a short distance away, face turned towards mine, hair matted with blood, and vomit, and maybe piss. His hand is broken and his elbow maybe is too and his arm is sprawled crookedly on the floor, pointing towards me. His body looks crumpled and uncomfortable; they dumped him there when he passed out and he hasn't woken up yet. There are voices echoing off the ceiling still.

Somebody says something about _time._

Somebody says something about _ruin._

Somebody says something about _money_ and _stocks_.

The relief is still there. Knowing we're almost there. I'm going to die. But in the middle of the cold there is a small flame. "Hikaru," I whisper, and I drag my hand along the ground, through a puddle of…something. Blood, maybe. Vomit, probably. Piss, definitely.

Hikaru had tried to stop them. Hikaru had fought them. Hikaru had claimed to be the mastermind. Hikaru had said, _kill me first._

I stretch my hand out, struggling to reach him.

I'm in pain, but it doesn't seem important.

_Every moment is precious._

_Hikaru is not going to die._

"Hikaru?"

I have to reach him.

It's very important.

I grab the wet ground, try to pull myself forward. An inch. Maybe two.

I feel the deep cut between my ribs open. The room wavers and blackens. In the dark I see long nails dripping red. The room comes back into focus. I reach out again. My fingers touch his. I rest my throbbing head against the ground, three of my fingers resting over three of Hikaru's.

The shouting reverberates painfully in my temples.

_'S'all right,_ I think, I maybe say out loud; I can't tell. My ears are ringing. _We tried. We couldn't but we tried._

Hikaru's eyes are cracked; can he see through them? I knew he's alive because of the slight twitches in his fingers.

_We tried._ I don't feel surprised that we have failed. I don't really feel upset. I feel sad. They are going to kill me, and Hikaru is going to blame himself. _It's not your fault._

I tried calling Kyoya's emergency number in the forest – multiple times, the reception would appear and disappear, be present and then not. I think it might have connected, briefly. I'm not sure. Someone had jumped me. I had dropped it. That phone call was my only shot to save him. I pray it was enough.

Haruhi will help him. Haruhi will tell him it isn't his fault. Hikaru is always trying to take the lead on everything – blame included. He is the reason behind every success story of ours. Everything I try on my own feels uncertain, weak, lifeless. Haruhi will help him. Haruhi understands him. Hikaru thinks he can't get on without me, but he's wrong. He just needs to discover that.

But first he has to leave. I start to listen to the voices.

"If something like this were to happen again—if either of them had been _seen_ —"

"Stop panicking. They weren't. This changes _nothing_. If nothing else, we have more film. Splice that package together, send it off—we'll be in Tokyo in twenty-four hours anyway."

"I still don't see the point of—"

" _Insurance,_ that's what, if it doesn't stir their consciences and humble their arrogance, to lose one so close to home."

I don't know what these pieces mean. It's maddening. I feel like I have to know. I have to understand. If I don't, maybe I can't save Hikaru.

Shadows drape over us as someone tall and hulking passes – a new voice. Sobbing. Hysterical, terrified sobbing.

"I didn't! I didn't! I _swear_ I didn't!"

Hikaru should have kept running. But he came back for me. He always comes back for me. There is a reason he is always the dominate one at the Host Club – he is always the hero in real life, too.

Maybe now it's my turn to be the hero, if only I can figure out how.

Hikaru's eyes twitch, and then they open slightly. Suddenly I can hear the sobbing with much more clarity.

It's Kendra. They've brought Kendra in here. Hikaru looks at something behind me, and he looks horrified.

"I swear! I _swear!_ "

He's going to be blaming himself for Kendra too. Another wave of pain passes; I see the puppets on the strings.

The clarity is so sudden all sense of fear and urgency leaves me. _Of course._

I wait for Hikaru to look at me; then I slowly, carefully, whisper the answer to him. My voice is gone; I can only mouth. He looks confused.

"It's time to go. Get the younger one."

They're separating us.

Kendra's sobbing suddenly becomes high-pitched. Hikaru's gaze snaps up and fixes on something behind us. "No, please, don't—I'll do anything—please _don't_ —"

A shadow drapes across us again. I press my fingers against Hikaru's; it hurts him, but I can't help it. He grimaces even as he looks up and makes defiant eye contact with whoever is standing behind me.

"Uh, which one…?"

"Christ's sake, he's the one in the blue."

I'm glad I'm the one in the blue. I'm glad that in this moment I'm wearing Hikaru's clothes. It's a piece of him I can have with me when I die.

Another shadow joins the first one. Somebody grabs me and pulls me upright. The room tips; I flail, grab the arm that is holding me up by my collar. At the same moment, in a blur of tan and red and a rancid stench of vomit, piss, blood, and sweat, Hikaru shoots up from the ground and lunges at us with an inhuman screech.

"Let go of him!"

A string of curses. My captor's foot lifts and collides easily with Hikaru's chest, shoving him backwards. Hikaru lets out a cry of angry pain.

"Good god, someone help me!"

Another person, a nameless man, has grabbed Hikaru from behind and is pulling him towards the door. I twist my head around. Kendra is on her knees by the wall, frozen, still crying; someone (the commanding voice, maybe?) holds her by her hair. There is a gun in his other hand, pointed at the ground. Hikaru is looking at me, and then a look of the most intense terror I've ever seen floods his entire body and he suddenly yanks himself from his captor's grasp, hurling himself across the room towards me.

I'm confused, but only briefly, as I feel a cold circlet of metal against my temple.

"No! Don't! Stop!" Hikaru shouts, grabbing desperately at me as his captor seizes him again. Hikaru fights; his captor stumbles back and forth, off-balance. "You can't take him! You're making a mistake! I _swear_ , you'll get what you want, but you're making a mistake!"

I hold very still, watching him, drinking in the sight of him. Because I'm not going to see him again.

Hikaru is always the hero.

No one else speaks; even Kendra has quieted slightly, watching Hikaru as he flails and cries and his captor regains his balance and pulls him to the door. My own captor releases my collar; he (she?) pushes on my neck until I'm sitting on my knees, my hands splayed against the grimy, damp floor. Then they grab my hair, and tilt my head towards the ceiling. The cold circlet is back. A flood of warmth over my middle; my ribs are bleeding again.

"Behave," someone says. "Or he'll die ahead of schedule."

The ceiling is drab and gray.

"STOP!" Hikaru's scream is the worst sound I have ever heard in my life, and it hurts more than any other wound I have right now. I look at him; he's grabbed the door frame, and his foot slips in a puddle of water. "You've made a mistake – he's Hikaru! Take me! I'm Kaoru! I'm _Kaoru!_ "

Hikaru has saved my life more than once, in more than one way.

My whisper is more of a thought than a sound. "Hika-chan."

There are frightened tears on his face, and his knuckles on his good hand are white on the doorframe, and he looks into my eyes and for an instant he stops struggling.

It's my turn to save his.

_I love you._

I slowly, slightly, shake my head.

*

Kaoru's shake of the head was the last that Hikaru saw of him before he was yanked around, before the door swung shut. The room spun. Hikaru tasted acid.

"What did you do," he whispered, and the minion didn't answer, his arm still wrapped around Hikaru, pulling him across this larger room.

_"You're the youngest, aren't you? You're the spare."_

_"We need to make sure it doesn't happen again. They need to know we mean what we say."_

_I'm Kaoru! **I'm Kaoru!**_

_Kaoru looked at him, softly, peacefully. He slowly, slightly, shook his head._

Hikaru screamed, and he saw everything in shades of scarlet. He attacked the minion, striking him, feeling pain reverberate through his hand and his arm and pound in his head and shoot through his knees. He couldn't think. He couldn't process.

He wanted to hurt this stranger. He wanted to kill him.

Hikaru was blind; his cut lips stung, his eyes burned.

Everything was red.

"You're not taking Kaoru!" he was screaming. "You're not taking Kaoru!"

There was another person, cursing at him, peeling him off, and Hikaru threw his head back into their chest, kicking out, trying to hurt them. He tried to demand they take him back, they take him back to Kaoru, they tell him what they had done. What they were going to do. He tried to tell them he was going to kill them, and then he was going to kill himself, but the words wouldn't come out.

"KAORU!" He shouted for his brother. "Kaoru!"

Somehow they separated his hands from their flesh, somehow lost his balance and fell into a small, empty storage closet with no overhead light and a thick glass window. Then Hikaru screamed at the door and attacked the door, and the glass, uselessly. He pounded against it with his knuckles, and then his head, and he tried to shout obscenities but the words wouldn't come out.

Every inch of him throbbed and burned and his broken hand was cutting up his flesh from the inside out…but he didn't notice; it was overwhelmed and minimized by the gutting, sickening, blinding, bleeding _agony_ as his heart splintered.

His head spun. He couldn't to see for darkness, feeling the fresh blood that was not his own under his fingernails and the self-inflicted scrapes and bruises on his knuckles and knees and scalp.

_Kaoru._

Then he couldn't see for tears, and couldn't breathe for anguish.

He went cold.

Hikaru's cries ceased abruptly as he collapsed in a dead faint.

*

_I was supposed to protect him._

Hikaru lay curled on the ground.

_I was going to stop them._

He couldn't move.

_They were going to kill me first._

It was dark and hot in here. The window-glass was dark; it only let in a greyish shade of light that made a little square in the middle of the floor.

_I didn't stop them._

Hikaru had been ripped in two and bled out overnight. Now his body was sweating and his soul was cold and long dead.

_Kaoru._

He stared at the little square of light.

They hadn't told him what they were going to do. But their intent was all too clear. They were going to kill Kaoru. Perhaps they already had. Perhaps they were right at this moment. The moment he'd woken up he'd pounded against at the window, but it was a herculean effort to even stand. He'd struck it a few times, feeling like his bones were splintering with every strike, then his knees shook so badly he fell against the wall, and when he tried to push himself upright his balance left and he grabbed at the air as he fell backwards, hiding his head again on the floor. So he lay here now and shivered and sweated.

_I'm not strong enough._

He wouldn't be too worried right now; he would be telling himself that they were just jumpy now that they had nearly escaped, now they just wanted to make sure they couldn't collaborate anymore—but for Kaoru's head-shake. Kaoru knew. Kaoru had accepted fate. They weren't just splitting them up; they were taking Kaoru away.

Hikaru shook, his heart pulsing pain through his limbs with each beat. If he were Kaoru, he would probably be having some sort of existential discussion with himself right now. But he was Hikaru, so he lay feeling poignant stabs of agony and grief and anger and—

_Suicide._

The moment that he knew they had killed Kaoru—Hikaru turned his head, slightly. This room appeared empty. But there were shelves in here, there were probably nails. And even if there weren't, it would be easy enough to get his hands on other things—eventually. All he had to do was not drink water for a few days if it came to that.

_Vengeance._

And odd sort of vengeance. A vindictive, painful pleasure.

_If you won't let me have Kaoru, you can't have me._

If he was lucky, he would just die here on this floor. They seemed to have forgotten him anyway.

The light outside his door went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =( 
> 
> I'm partway through the next chapter, so I'll get it up as soon as I can; depends on how much free time I have this next week.


	22. Theater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: still injuries, pain, and blood, but milder than the previous chapter.

It took several agonizing hours to make the decision. But once it was made, Haruhi had never packed so quickly in her life. Then she crept into the kitchen in stockings, holding her shoes in one hand and a painful note in the other.

_Dad is never going to forgive me._

She left the note on the counter and raced outside. On the dark corner, a limousine was waiting, headlights blaring.

"Honestly, Senpei, you couldn't have picked something a little less _obvious_?"

Tamaki, already seated, was visibly jittery. His hands twisted on his lap and he kept looking over his shoulder and peering through the window as the driver pulled out. "Oh, yes, I suppose that would have been a good idea," Tamaki admitted. "Too late now."

"I tried to talk him out of it," came a dry old woman's voice from the front. "But Master Tamaki insists on these sort of things."

"This is my head housekeeper, Haruhi," said Tamai. "So don't be worried, I trust her."

"More than he ought to, probably," said the housekeeper dryly. "He hasn't told me what shenanigans you all are up to, but hinted I'll find out after you leave. I hope my pension won't be affected by this, Master Tamaki."

"I don't think so." Tamaki laughed nervously, and then frowned. "Haruhi, where are your things?" Haruhi wordlessly pointed to her small suitcase. "That's all you _have_? Did you have to sell anything? Are you in trouble? Do you have debts?"

Haruhi sighed. "That's all I'm bringing, Senpei, not all I have. We're not exactly going on a luxury cruise. And we're supposed to come back soon, right?"

"Well, yes." At the mention of their "luxury cruise" Tamaki twisted to look out the window again.

"Are we going to Kyoya-Senpei's?"

"Yes. Well, his private airstrip."

Haruhi closed her eyes briefly, feeling like she ought to be more surprised. But her mind instead went back to her apartment where in a few short hours her dad would be waking up and finding a non-explanatory note on the counter that said next-to-nothing. Kyoya had explained very impatiently over the phone (he almost sounded frazzled, and kept interrupting himself with sharp orders to other people in his room) that, most likely, once he and Tamaki _and_ Honey _and_ Mori had all vanished, the targeting of her family would be very low on the priority list. Nobody cared about some commoner potentially involved in espionage—at least not when very large celebrated names were potentially involved. But still, Haruhi had explained almost nothing to her dad. At least that way he could honestly tell people that he had no idea what was going on. (Unless Kyoya had filled him in. This wouldn't be the first time he'd done that behind her back.)

She remained somewhat dazed on the dark ride to the outskirts of the city; she may have dozed off. But she woke up sharply when Tamaki shook her gently by one shoulder. "We're here. Time to get out."

She followed him out onto the tarmac and waited while Tamaki tried to convince his housekeeper to take a roll of bills. She repeatedly refused, even after Tamaki said to consider it part of her pension. "Master Tamaki, it's getting more and more obvious you're about to do something incredibly stupid and underhanded. I appreciate the thought, but having a suspicious roll of money on me looks a lot more like bribery and a lot less like loyalty."

Tamaki hesitated. "If…if anybody does come asking questions, you are to tell them exactly what happened and exactly where you took me. Understand? I don't want you taking the fall for trying to cover up for me."

"Understood, Master Tamaki."

A hand reached up out of the car window, patted Tamaki smartly on the cheek, then withdrew as the car pulled away. Haruhi looked around for the first time. They were outside of what looked like a large warehouse at the end of an empty road and surrounded by empty space. She followed Tamaki inside.

Kyoya met them at the door. "So you've finally made it. There's a jet ready out back. Get on. We're leaving immediately."

"Aren't we worried about being tracked?" Haruhi inquired of Tamaki as they walked through the building and went out back. "Or someone turning us in? Who's flying?"

"Ten of Kyoya's most trusted personal force are coming with us," Tamaki explained, sounding oddly calm. "And as I understand it, we're turning off all of our communications. If we go out overseas, the radar will lose us. But even if it doesn't they at least won't be able to identify us. Kyoya hopes to give us a head start—nobody should know we've left by jet for a good while."

"Great." Haruhi imagined with distaste the manhunt that would soon be on and the military precautions some might be inclined to take if an unidentified plane was perceived as a threat. One problem with all these damn rich people is how easily they believed nothing could touch them. But even Kyoya's luck had to run out at some point, right?

As they climbed up the stairs and entered the plane, Haruhi (used to ignoring grandeur by now) shook off her awe at what resembled one of the sitting rooms at Tamaki's mansion more than the interior of a plane, and shook off her slight unease at the multiple armed individuals standing silently around the room, and asked, "Where is it we're going, anyway? Are we just going to hunker down in a bunker somewhere? Take on the identities of tourists in Korea?" She waved to Mori, who was already seated on one of the long, white leather couches, long legs outstretched, his arm wrapped around Honey who leaned against him, fast asleep. Kasanoda paced back and forth in the rear, muttering under his breath and sending suspicious glares at Kyoya's security detail.

"Change of plans," Kyoya climbed in behind them, signaling one of the security members who headed to the front of the plane. The door shut behind him, and moments later the floor began to tremble. Tamaki pulled Haruhi into a seat. Kyoya also seated himself. "We're taking a detour first."

"Detour?" Haruhi exclaimed. "Can we afford to take a detour right now, Senpei? I'm on the run from the law! We're all fugitives!"

"Technically, there's no reason any of us can't leave," said Kyoya calmly.

"I don't have a passport!"

"You do now." Kyoya tossed a small book at Haruhi. "The only illegal thing we're doing is cutting off all possibilities of tracking that we can—which you are hardly responsible for. Of course, I am prepared to say that we lied and said we were going to take you to one of my family's resorts and you were an unwilling participant. Your name cleared, you will be free to return to your law career, no matter what mess this ends in."

The jet began to roll across the tarmac.

"You don't really think we'd let you incarcerate yourself, did you, Haruhi?" said Tamaki, in a tone way too cheerful for the circumstances.

Haruhi was, momentarily, struck speechless. These boys were going to pretend to kidnap her if they had to. Her stomach lurched – but that probably had more to do with the jet lifting in the air than anything else. "I…don't know what to say, you guys. Thank you."

Kyoya ignored her gratitude. "And the detour we're taking…it, too, is illegal, now that it comes to it. A restricted research zone in Shizuoka. It is closed off to the public. There are active research facilities within the zone, including one inactive that has been undergoing renovations for the past few years, and within the past year has simply remained empty while a suitable research project and team is found. Only cleared personnel are allowed inside."

"So…why are we going there?"

"Because about an hour ago I received a rather odd phone call originating from that area, on a phone that one is not supposed to simply call. There was no one on the other end when I answered, but I took the liberty of looking up the name—Kendra Newsom, a medical student. Tamaki will be especially pleased to hear that she was recently a graduate of Springton University."

The air suddenly became thick and difficult to breathe. "Kaoru." Haruhi breathed.

"Perhaps."

"He's being held there!"

"Perhaps."

"When…" Haruhi licked her lips. "When can we get there?"

"Within the hour."

"What…" Haruhi's head was spinning. This could be over _tonight_? "What are we doing? What's the plan?"

"Assuming we can find a place to land, we will be sending a team to scout out the place."

"I'm coming," said Haruhi immediately.

"No," said Mori.

"I am!" Haruhi insisted. "He's my friend too!"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Kyoya, maddeningly cool as he rested his head back with his arms crossed. "This isn't a matter of which of us are Kaoru's friends – this is a matter of potentially saving a life, and potentially walking straight into a trap. There's no reason to trust a call that comes from these people. Either way, you are completely unequipped to deal with what might lie inside. Mori and Honey are, of course, two of the most deadly fighters in the world. And I need to have eyes on my own forces."

"So I'm just going to – sit here?" Haruhi spluttered. "By myself?"

"No, Kasanoda and one of my own will stay with you – hog-tie you, if necessary, while the rest of us go in."

"You're letting _Tamaki_ go in?" Haruhi exclaimed. "How is _he_ equipped and _I'm_ not?"

"He's nowhere near equipped," said Kyoya, glancing at Tamaki who was now sulking, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, chin pressed against his chest. "But, he's much less likely than you to mess things up because he's much less likely to take the initiative to do something contrary to my own plans should the possibility arise."

Haruhi tried to decide if this was an insult or a compliment.  "So I'm too smart to go in?"

"Essentially. That, and it would completely negate the efforts we have taken to keep you innocent in the eyes of the law if things go terribly wrong."

Haruhi scowled. "Then why am I even here?"

Kyoya didn't even look up. "Because you're smart. If this doesn't end tonight, we're going to need you."

Haruhi stewed for a moment, listening to the deep hum of the jet as Kyoya swiped his fingers across his iPad, warped images reflecting off his glasses. "What is your plan, then, that I’m not allowed to change?"

"I won't know until we get there," said Kyoya tonelessly.

Tamaki straightened up, running his hands through his hair. "Don't worry about us, Haruhi. Kyoya knows what he's doing." He smiled at her. Haruhi raised her eyebrows, but chose to say nothing, even though she could see right through him. Tamaki was scared spitless. So she smiled, leaned over, and patted his hand as it rested on his knee.

"I know, Senpei. I'm not worried." She hesitated. "But you shouldn't go in."

"Maybe not," sighed Tamaki, curling his fingers so they gripped the ends of hers. He stared at his shoes. They were impossibly white, Haruhi noticed. Brand-new, probably. "But I need to."

"No, you don't!" Haurhi insisted, and then was momentarily distracted as Kyoya glanced up and gave her a slight nod. He didn't want Tamaki tagging along either. "Look, Senpei, you won't accomplish anything by going in there. You could get in the way. You might make things worse, not better!"

"Maybe so," Tamaki's voice became very soft – a very bad thing. It was in these earnest moments that he became the most stubborn. "But it's because of me we're even here. If I hadn't invited the twins into our family—"

"—Hikaru would still be dead and Kaoru would still be kidnapped," Haruhi interrupted. "How can this be your fault?"

"Oh, I didn't say it was my fault." Tamaki pulled his hand away. "But they are my responsibility."

"Senpei, that doesn't make any sense!" Tamaki shrugged. "And what about me, then?" Haruhi leapt up. "All of you guys are completely clueless, but you're the worst, Tamaki! You think these—terrorists—or whoever they are will care that you feel responsible, or familial, or whatever—you think that because you're rich and wearing really conspicuous white shoes that you're impervious to bullets?!"

Tamaki looked from Haruhi, to his hands, to his shoes, and then turned to Kyoya. "You have a point, Haruhi…Kyoya, should I change my shoes? We're trying to sneak in, ri—"

Haruhi slapped him as hard as she could. Tamaki's mouth fell open, holding his cheek as it flooded red. "You IDIOT!" she shouted. "They murdered Hikaru with a goddamn sniper rifle, you think they’re going to hestitate before shooting you too? You're going to waltz in there without a second thought? If you want me to sit in a jet and be useless and safe instead of useless and a liability, fine. I'll do it. But not while you go and jeopardize yourself. I'm not going to sit here and do nothing and lose you too! If we're a _family_ then I'm going to be a _part_ of it, damn it!"

Tamaki sitting was almost the same height as her standing. But he still stared up at her glowering face, looking like a shocked and kicked puppy. His mouth closed and his gaze lowered and Haruhi was reminded of a similar scene last summer when Tamaki, one of her best friends in the world, had confessed and she had turned him down. She took a deep breath.

"…please don't go in, Tamaki?"

His hand lowered to his lap. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Haruhi."

She clenched her fists. "Fine. But I'm coming in too."

"No, you're not," said Tamaki, even more quietly.

"Yes, I am. You're not going to stop me."

"I'm not, but Kyoya is."

"It's true," said Kyoya mildly. "Hog-tied, if necessary. Now if you two don't mind, stop your shouting. We'll be landing soon and I'd rather let a certain member of the Haninozuka family sleep for as long as possible."

*

The light had flickered on and off a few times in the past several—minutes? Hours? Days? Hikaru didn't move. Not because he couldn't, but because he didn't think to. What was the point of moving?

He thought he was hallucinating, at first. What was wrong with the light on the floor? Instead of being a dim square of consistent light, it shuddered, it moved, it flashed and went out. Sometimes bright, sometimes dim. Sometimes broken by shadows. It wobbled, it disappeared. It was the wrong color, too—a much too solid blue-white, instead of the white-yellow, or even the dim red of backup lights.

Something clattered to the ground outside, followed by an odd thudding sound. The light disappeared. Then it was back again. Or was it? Maybe it had never left, maybe he'd fallen asleep and then woken up.

Hikaru closed his eyes. When he opened them, the light was still there. Silence. Utter silence. The light shifted, left, came back. It reminded him of something. Of a nightmare. Of running in the night with flashlight beams scattered across the trees behind him.

_Flashlight._

A jiggling of the doorknob. Hikaru didn't move. Something thudded against the door, a hiss of pain. Rattling the doorknob again.

_So are you going to come in here and kill me, or what?_

He was lying near the door, he thought, on his side. With luck it would brain him upon opening. But no—silence. The flashlight beam grew faint for a few moments, and then returned. Quiet clinking, brief silence, more clinking.

_Keys._

Whoever it was was now trying keys.

 _Click_.

Hikaru closed his eyes again. The shuddering blackness that had been hovering on the edge of his subconscious reached in, and because of that Hikaru still thought he was hallucinating when a familiar voice gasped.

 _"Kaoru!_ "

A horrifically loud clatter exploded next to his ear, and Hikaru was jerked from semi-consciousness, eyes opening. The door had opened, there was a flashlight on the ground in front of his face, a painful hand had grabbed his shoulder.

"Oh, please don't be dead! Please don't be dead!" the voice hissed frantically, a high-pitched hysteria struggling to keep quiet. "Kaoru! Don't be dead!" The hands pulled him over onto his back. "Kaoru!" A sharp smack across his face. Hikaru blinked, staring disbelievingly up into a pair of wide, violet eyes.

Hikaru felt very confused. "…Boss?"

"You're alive!" Tamaki gasped. "Get up, quick, I've got to get you out of here! We couldn't find you the other places, and we're almost trapped, but I had to come and check—Kyoya's just out on the stairs last I saw him, we've chased people out—"

Tamaki stopped abruptly as both he and Hikaru heard the peppering sound of multiple guns going off.

"Kaoru," Hikaru whispered.

"Can you walk?" Tamaki pulled on his arms, dragging him partially off the ground, and Hikaru nearly fainted. "I know you're hurt, but we've got to go! Right now! Oh—" Tamaki gasped, staring down at the ground over Hikaru's shoulder.

Hikaru flung one arm over Tamaki's shoulder, yanked on the front of his shirt with his other hand, trying to pull his head closer and failing. "Kaoru," he tried to say again.

Tamaki tore his gaze away from whatever it was he had been staring at, his face slightly green. "We've got to go," he repeated, straightening, both arms wrapped around Hikaru's midsection, HIkaru's legs scrabbling reflexively for some sort of support and failing.

"No," Hikaru tried to say. Then, as Tamaki pulled him through the door. " _No!_ " his voice tore from his throat in a spray of pinkish spittle that spattered across Tamaki's face.

Tamaki seemed alarmingly unfazed. Perhaps he had been so thoroughly shocked he could no longer be upset by anything. "Don't fight me, I can't get you up the stairs by myself as it is—"

Hikaru's fingers found Tamaki's hair. He yanked his head down. "No," he whispered. "Kaoru. Leave me. Get _Kaoru._ "

Tamaki stared into his face for a moment. "What?"

"Kaoru," Hikaru rasped. His tongue felt hot and swollen and dry. "Get Kaoru. Going to kill Kaoru. Leave me. Get Kaoru."

"Kaoru?" whispered Tamaki, and his face went from green to white. "Kaoru? _Kaoru_?" he slipped and fell hard against the wall, gripping Hikaru even more tightly. One of Hikaru's feet found purchase against the floor. He let it take some weight. "But…which one are you?" His voice shook. "Which one are _you_?"

"Get Kaoru," Hikaru repeated. The room ceiling spun lazily above Tamaki's head.

Tamaki's arms were shaking. No – all of him was shaking. He was rattling Hikaru so badly he could feel his broken ribs grating against each other. "…Hikaru?"

He was going to faint again; the blackness was coming back. Hikaru grabbed Tamaki's hair in desperation, trying to stay upright. "Leave me," he begged. "Kaoru."

Tamaki looked up, cried in a shrill voice. "Over here! We're over here! You – no, that's all right, I've got him!" his arms tightened again; gravity shifted as Tamaki straightened. Hikaru lost sense of up and down and his legs turned into jelly. He sagged. Tamaki stumbled. "No, no, get Mori—I mean, get Takashi and Honey – tell Kyoya now – I've got Hikaru! I've got _Hikaru_ and Kaoru is still here! Both of them are here! They're alive!"

Hikaru felt the queer, ticklish sensation of hot liquid running out of the side of his mouth. "Get Kaoru," he begged. His voice was coming back—it was hurting him, but it was coming back, even as his vision was lost in blurs of red and blue. "Boss, leave me, get Kaoru. Please."

"We are!" Tamaki gasped out, and then Hikaru felt suddenly weightless; somebody else was lifting him. He kept a hold on Tamaki's hair. "Ow—Hikaru, we're all here, we're not leaving you but we're getting Kaoru!"

They weren’t listening to him. “ _Please._ ”

"Do you know where he is?" an urgent female voice said. "Do you know where Kaoru is?"

The queer sensation had moved up to his eyes. There was so much red. Hikaru wondered if his eyes were bleeding now. He wondered if that was possible. "They're going to kill him. They're going to kill him. _Please._ "

"No, it's fine, I don't mind," said Tamaki abruptly, and his hand clamped over Hikaru's as he still held onto the clumps of hair. "Can we run? Are we running now?"

"We're running now," said the female voice. "Ready?"

Peppering again. A familiar, nightmarish scent of nighttime air. Tamaki's fingers tightened around Hikaru's.

"Don't leave," he whispered, the liquid sensation doubling. "Don't take me – we have to get Kaoru."

"Go, now!"

Bursts of pain again, but they were dulled, and all blurred lights and fuzzy sounds faded away completely, until he heard Tamaki's panicked voice.

"Oh, no! Oh, no! He let go! Is he dead? Did he die?"

"Fainted," said the female voice. "The most merciful thing for him at the moment, honestly." Hikaru shivered as a breeze that felt as cold as ice brushed across his face.

"Is he bleeding to death?" Tamaki whimpered.

“Not unless he’s hemorrhaging. Which I guess is a possibility, but—”

"You didn't see – the blood in that room –I mean, it wasn't all blood, but—and his clothes—"

"Be quiet," said the woman, with a harsh urgency in her voice. A distant rumbling.

Hikaru fainted again, and woke to the woman speaking a short distance away about a jet and stabilization and building status, and just barely had time to realize Tamaki was holding him, cradling him like a small child, before the world faded out again.

"I mean, I was the one who found him—"

"Congratulations. Do you want a medal?"

 He heard more snippets of conversations, more flashes of pain, more sounds of rumbling, sensed vibrations, then—

"—for now, but lord knows what they were thinking."

"This should help puzzle it out." Kyoya? "If nothing else, this stop will have been most informative." _Kyoya._

Hikaru felt someone binding his elbow. He was laying on a hard, flat surface, clothes at least partially gone, light was turning his eyelids red. "…Kendra." He whispered. The room went dead silent.

Someone grabbed his hand.

"What was that?" Tamaki again, voice getting louder as he rushed closer. "Did he say something?"

"Is Hika-chan awake?" Honey's voice.

"Kendra?" Hikaru opened his eyes, squinting upwards, but he saw the hard lines of a grim-faced Japanese woman in uniform, who only glanced at him before resuming her work binding his arm.

"Well, Haruhi?" came Kyoya's flat voice. "Do we have a verdict?"

Hikaru turned his head and stared, speechless, into Haruhi's face. She stared back. Hikaru twisted, looking down Haruhi's arm to where her hand rested on his. But he had barely processed this before processing that he was wearing nothing but a tarp. He jerked, felt his face flush, looked back to her. Words were too confusing for the moment.

Haruhi suddenly inhaled and said, without looking away from him, "Yeah. It's Hikaru."

And with that, Hikaru woke up. He sat up suddenly, ignoring the loss of gravity, panic striking him. "Kaoru!" he gasped out. "Where's Kaoru?" His vision left him, but he still grabbed the tarp with one hand and groped about blindly with the other, tearing his arm away from the woman tending to him. When nobody answered him he stopped groping, twisting around on the table to stare around the narrow room. Hikaru bared his teeth. "Where," he growled. "Is. _Kaoru._ " His balance was off; he felt weightless.

Kyoya was watching him with folded arms as he leaned against the wall. "Kaoru was not in the complex."

Kyoya may as well have punched him. Hikaru felt the air leave his lungs in a low whimper. "What?"

"Lie back down, Hikaru," said Haruhi, standing beside him.

“Boss.” Hikaru found Tamaki. He stared at him. "You said you would get him out. You _promised_ me."

"We will." Tamaki came forward and put his hands on Hikaru's shoulders. "He wasn't there. But we _are_ going to get him. Lie back down, Hikaru, you're hurt—"

"Go back." Hikaru tried to stand. Failed. Tamaki caught him and pushed him back. "Go back! Where are we? Go back, right now!" He stared at his own hands as they clenched at Tamaki's stained clothes.

"We're in a jet headed for a hospital," said Tamaki.

"Please, Hikaru," Haruhi pulled on his hand. "We had to cut most of your clothes off you—"

"I feel _fine!_ " Hikaru shouted, tasting a metallic twang on his tongue.

"You're doped up on a crap-ton of pain meds, Hikaru!" Haruhi raised her voice. "Now lay down before you hurt yourself even worse!"

"Tamaki, you _promised_ me! We have to go back, get Kaoru _now_ —"

"Kaoru isn't _there,_ " Haruhi raised her voice. "Lie back down right now, Hikaru Hitachiin, or I'll _make_ you lie down!"

Hikaru's chest heaved. He wanted nothing more than to spring up, throw open the nearest door, jump out into the night—he slumped over, unsure if he had fallen or if Haruhi had pushed him, but he was lying flat again, and he heard himself moaning, "But they're going to kill him—that's the last thing they said to me—it's time to kill him—they're going to _kill_ him, they think he's the spare—"

"We'll find him," said Kyoya firmly. "Whether he's still alive or not. Now we have your information, we have some of their data, we'll take it back to Komatsu. He may be an idiot and an arrogant prick, but he still has charge of the case, and as Hikaru can clear our names he'll have no choice but to cooperate—"

Hikaru was shivering again, violently. His skin stuck to the wood of the table. He'd failed again—no, still—continuously—they had Kaoru, they were going to kill Kaoru, and why? _Why_?

He closed his eyes, felt an unnatural heaviness in his body, and a black well of despair and hopelessness. And then, as he teetered on the edge of falling asleep (or unconscious; they seemed equally likely), Kaoru's face wavered in his memory, staring at him from across the wet floor, whispering a single word to him, urgent and calm.

_Theater._

Hikaru forced himself to wake up again, up through the deep, warm layers of subconscious. Haruhi was still sitting there, looking at him. He stared up at the ceiling; the medic had started sponging him off. "Kyoya."

"Kyoya," Haruhi repeated, not taking her eyes off of him.

Kyoya ceased speaking in low tones to someone else behind Hikaru's head. "Hm?"

"Hikaru wants you."

Kyoya sighed very slightly. "Yes, Hikaru?"

Hikaru continued looking up at the ceiling. "If you take me back and we don't have Kaoru with us, I'm going to tell everybody that you all were the ones who plotted to kidnap me."

Honey made a confused sound. Tamaki made an alarmed one. Kyoya did not sound surprised. "Don't be ridiculous, Hikaru."

"You said you need me to clear your name. Well, then, I won't clear it."

"Then you will be depriving Kaoru of the very hope we have of rescuing him, seeing as the police will make no headway without us."

"Kaoru might already be dead." It was easier to say that, somehow, because he was saying it to the ceiling. "If you take me back now, he definitely will be."

Kyoya was quiet for a moment. His footsteps clicked against the floor as he came into Hikaru's vision and stopped by his side. "Why is that?"

"Everything they've been doing," said Hikaru. "They've been doing it for show. Haven't they? I don't know what they want, but they tried to murder us in public, they filmed Kaoru when they beat him, then they filmed both of us, then they were—they said they were taking him to Tokyo to kill him.”

“What’s your point?” Kyoya had lowered the iPad and was watching him closely.

Hikaru took a deep breath, and then wished he hadn’t because it made his ribs pop. He winced. “Kaoru is probably still alive if they have to set it up to be dramatic before killing him. You guys have me, but they don’t know who you are, so they have a reason to keep him around. For insurance. As long as my whereabouts are unknown, he’s not a spare anymore. But as soon as they know the authorities have me, as soon as they know we’re onto them, they’ll cut ties and run.” Hikaru sat up and stared at Kyoya. “Goons have him, not the Big Bad. I promise.” Kyoya said nothing. “I _promise_.” Hikaru begged. “They don’t want a ransom. They’ve never wanted a ransom. They could have gotten a ransom. They want a show where they call the shots. I don’t know why, but as soon as we get the upper hand, as soon as we look like heroes, as soon as we mess up their narrative, it’s game over. We’re the puppets in the theater. They want to control us, not the other way around.”

Kyoya still said nothing. Hikaru held his breath. That meant he was thinking. Thinking very hard. He rubbed his chin and turned his back. “So what you’re saying, Hikaru, is this is a game. You are gambling on what you think the opponents want and how they’ll react to our actions.”

“Admit it,” Hikaru pleaded. He was beginning to feel dizzy. “If I don’t reappear, it’ll at least buy Kaoru some time. Right? They won’t know where I’ve gone. But their narrative won’t have changed – not to the public or to mom and dad, anyway. To everyone but us it’ll look like they’re still in control. So they’ll look for us, but they can’t kill Kaoru if they don’t know where their other hand is or who’s holding him.” Now Hikaru began to feel nauseous. Kyoya started to wander past him, to the other side of the room again. Hikaru reached out and grabbed his sleeve, feeling his elbow creak painfully. “ _Please_ ,” he whispered. “Please, Kyoya, he’s my little brother.” Hikaru’s vision blurred as he retched. He lost his grip on Kyoya’s arm as he leaned over the edge of the table and sent acidic spittle splattering on the ground as his vision faded away.

But it was worth it. Kyoya was walking away, but he was saying in his commanding voice, “Turn North. We’re going around the city. Head East. Get us as far away as possible before the sun rises.”


	23. Kill Him If He Screams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cheese doodles, it's been too long. 
> 
> Warning: mild language
> 
> Update 12/7/17: I know it's been forever since I've updated. I just thought I should let you all know that I have NOT abandoned the fic. I'm working on other stuff right now, but I do plan on coming back to this one. Cheers!

Haruhi distracted herself from her present circumstance by pouring over and over her notes. Kyoya, an hour or so before, had told of his people—she wasn’t sure what to call them. Bodyguards? Policemen? “Servants” didn’t seem right—to wake him up when a decision needed to be made, then reclined his chair back, crossed his arms, and went to sleep with his glasses still on his face. Sunlight poured through the windows now; if she looked through them, she saw either a hazy white fog or the sight of a very distant dark surface that she knew was the Pacific Ocean only from one of Kyoya’s offhand comments. She wondered with a slight twinge of uneasiness just how much fuel this thing held. They had landed somewhere just before the sun rose and now there was nothing but ocean and would be nothing but ocean until they hit the Western coastline of the American continent.

Hikaru, too, had been awake earlier. He’d even been mostly coherent, and it was from him and from Kyoya that she obtained this scrambled, confused pile of information. She clutched a tattered notebook and tried to sort out vital information into a logical list, hoping that it would somehow let her put the pieces together. Unfortunately, it was difficult to tell which pieces were the most important.

_Fact 1. Assuming Hikaru’s theory is correct, there is one Big Bad orchestrating a very dramatic play about the deaths and/or kidnapping of the Hitachiin twins._

_Fact 2. There are two versions of this dramatic play: one for the public (one twin was shot and killed, the other ran away) and one for the Hitachiin household (both of the twins are alive and in danger of being killed if they don’t pay some sort of ransom)._

_Fact 3. The Hitachiins are unwilling to pay whatever the ransom is. According to Hikaru, it wouldn’t just be money._

_Fact 4. The Hitachiins don’t want the news to get out that their sons are being held for ransom and that they aren’t paying it. But, strangely, the terrorists don’t want that news to get out either (?), even though massive public pressure in favor of paying the ransom ought to make it much more likely that they would get what they wanted?_

_Fact 5. The twins’ torture was filmed; Kaoru was taken to Tokyo (possibly) to be shot (probably)? The dramatics are for emotional pressure on the parents? Documentation? Something that hasn’t happened yet?_

_Conclusion: maybe someone else is getting the footage too? We’re assuming it’s the Hitachiins who are receiving the death threats, but maybe it isn’t them? But they were receiving messages from the terrorists. ~~Hitachiins orchestrated the kidnapping of their own --~~ ask if we can trace back messages to the source (no, the source is where we just came from)—try to find documentation in facility (no, we’re as good as outcasts)_

_Hikaru says Kaoru is safest as long as terrorists don’t know where Hikaru is or who has him—but what would they do if H showed up safe and well in Japan? Cut loose and run?—no, too much buildup. Even if just minions have Kaoru, not Big Bad. Just kidnap Hikaru again? Shoot him in public again?—what good would that do? Still wouldn’t get them their ransom? What’s their plan B? What’s their plan A?? WHO ARE THEY???_

With each sentence, Haruhi’s scribbling got more and more mad. At this last question, the plastic  on her mechanical pencil cracked. She clutched it in her fist and screwed her eyes shut as they stung with hot tears of frustration and exhaustion.

“It’s a good question.”

Haruhi wiped her eyes and looked up with a heavy sigh. “Oh. Hi, Mori-senpei. I thought you were asleep.” She was beginning to think about doing the same thing.

The tall man didn’t answer her; he wasn’t even looking at her. He put one hand on Haruhi’s shoulder as he leaned down, looking at her notebook with impassivity. Haruhi felt a little embarrassed at her rambling; above this list was another, senseless, circling rant. She started to close the book, but Mori put one finger on the last sentence she’d written, smearing the lead. “This question,” he said. “It’s a good question.”

“Er,” said Haruhi. “Thanks?”

Mori removed his finger from the book and his heavy hand from her shoulder, straightening as she closed the book. She looked up at him again as he stood with his hands in his pockets, staring across the room where Honey was curled under blankets again.

Haruhi tried again. “Did you need something, Mori-senpei?”

Mori shook his head. “Terrorists,” he said simply. “They usually announce themselves.” He crossed the jet’s interior and sat down next to Honey, staring out the window.

Haruhi frowned. Her tired mind felt clouded and still tangled with frustrated rage. But the more she thought about Mori’s statement, the more the knots began to untangle themselves.

That was true. Terrorists _did_ always announce themselves. They always took credit for whatever it was they had done. They always proclaimed what it was that they wanted, and celebrated for the whole world to see when they had taken a step towards that goal. They wanted the world to know they were terrorists. Haruhi opened her book back up so quickly she tore one page halfway out. She shoved it away impatiently.

_Fact. The Big Bad doesn’t want the world to know he is a terrorist. The Big Bad has another face he is showing the world. The Big Bad is somebody the world already knows._

Haruhi leaped up and walked quickly over to Kyoya and prodded his shoulder. Kyoya’s eyes opened at once. His head had turned to the side, knocking his glasses askew, but he sat up, straightened them, and looked at her expectantly. Haruhi held out her notebook and quickly gave her reasoning.

“This explains so much,” she said eagerly as his eyes skimmed over her notes. “Why the death threats aren’t being revealed to the public to pressure the Hitachiins into paying, why they orchestrated it to look like an assassination and a runaway—”

“Why don’t you think it’s the Hitachiins themselves?” Kyoya interrupted, pointing to the crossed-out entry.

“Oh. Um. It just didn’t…feel right. Sure, it could be, theoretically. Anything’s possible. But it doesn’t make sense. Their business is hurting because of all of this, so money can’t be the motivation. And besides, they need the twins to carry on their legacy. Kaoru told me as much before he…disappeared again.”

Kyoya nodded, then frowned, then gave her a sharp look. “Did you hear what you just said?”

Haruhi was taken aback. “About the…legacy?”

“No. Before. Why the death threats aren’t being revealed to the public to pressure the Hitachiins into paying the twins’ ransom. You said the...as you put it… ‘Big Bad’ doesn’t want to show his face to the public?”

Haruhi nodded. “Right.”

“But why would these threats reveal who he or she is?” Kyoya asked. Haruhi scrambled for an answer, but he continued, and she realized he was merely thinking out loud, and not interrogating her or criticizing her hypothesis. “The Big Bad weren’t there in person, most likely. Unless the mention of their name, or the image of their face, was added to the threats as an extra pressure point. But then that would give the Hitachiins a specific target to investigate and expose. No, the Hitachiins must also be blind…so why would…unless…” Kyoya stood up so quickly that he bumped into Haruhi who took several steps backwards. He blinked rapidly, looking startled, like he’d forgotten she was standing there. "My apologies.”

“What is it?” Haruhi demanded, too excited to be offended.

“I hypothesize,” said Kyoya, “That were these messages shown to the public the vast majority of the public would remain ignorant to the identity of the perpetrator just as the Hitachiins most probably are at the present time. But a minority of the public, either by deduction or recognition of the methods, would be able to pinpoint who the mastermind is, and give hefty tip-offs and evidence to the police.”

Kyoya started towards the front of the jet; Haruhi followed him. “So can we release those messages to the public?”

“Unfortunately, no. Komatsu is obviously in the Hitachiins’ pocket, and as you know, I and mine were unsuccessful in hacking the computers where they were being held.”

“So what are you doing?”

Kyoya hesitated, one hand against the handle of the cockpit door. “Oh, I’m giving the pilots some directions. I know exactly where it is we’re going now.” He pulled open the door and, ignoring the respectful (albeit a bit startled) greetings of the pilots, he glanced over his shoulder at Haruhi and said with the barest, rarest hint of a smile: “Well done, Haruhi. I knew I brought you along for a reason.” He stepped into the cockpit and shut the door.

*

_Kendra._

Someone was shaking him; he hurt all over. Was this what Kaoru had felt after being beaten senseless?

Hikaru tried to open his eyes; the light stung. He put up a hand. “Kendra—need more—for Kaoru—can you get it?”

“What?”

Hikaru shook his head, opened his eyes wide. It was Haruhi standing there. Hikaru sat up, confused, excited, relieved. He wasn’t in the compound, he wasn’t unconscious in a closet, he and Kaoru weren’t—wait. He frowned. “What are you—where am—where’s—” and then he remembered. The exhilaration he had felt evaporated as he plunged back down into the nightmare that was his current reality. He lowered his gaze.

“You okay?” Haruhi asked.

Hikaru looked past her, saw his silent matter-of-fact, perfectly-trained, most-definitely-graduated-from-medical-school nurse packing up supplies, and felt an angry pang. He felt the stillness of the jet, the lack of the background roar. They had landed. “Did you guys find Kendra?” he asked flatly, doing his best to not hate the sight of the nurse (none of this was her fault) and failing in that attempt.

“Who’s Kendra?” Haruhi asked patiently.

“Took care of me and Kaoru,” Hikaru explained in the exactly opposite manner. “Black woman. Twenty-five-ish. Fluent in Japanese. When you raided the building, did you find her?”

“I…don’t think so. If she was working for them—”

“She wasn’t,” Hikaru interrupted, glowering at her. It was a lie, obviously. Sort of. But he felt a fierce need to defend Kendra. After he’d essentially gotten her a death sentence he wasn’t about to dirty her name. Prayed that she had escaped.

Haruhi gestured to the door next to his cot. “We’ve landed. It’s time to go. We’ll set you up at the hotel. Can you walk?”

“I don’t know,” Hikaru grumbled, picking his badly-fitting hospital pajamas. “You haven’t let me so much as stand up.”

“Change,” the nurse interrupted them, throwing down freshly-laundered clothes. Generic. Jeans, t-shirt. The sight infuriated him. He pushed the pile away. They tumbled to the floor. “I don’t want those.”

“You can’t go out wearing that,” the nurse snapped, picking the clothes back up. “You’ll stand out. We’re trying to attract as little attention as possible, remember?” She plopped them back on the bed. Hikaru recoiled, scooting back and scrambling out from under the sheets. His vision immediately blurred and went dark for a moment, but he found his feet, Haruhi’s shoulder, and a wall a moment later.

“I’m not wearing them.” Hikaru repeated. “Get me something else. Something decent.”

The nurse’s eyes flashed. “May I remind you, my Lord Hikaru, that you are currently a runaway? Might I suggest you don’t shoot yourself in the foot?”

“I’m not wearing those,” Hikaru repeated. “Get me something decent or I’m staying here.”

Haruhi shifted under his weight, leaning over and opening the door. “Tamaki?”

The blond moron appeared immediately. “Yes? What’s wrong?” His gaze snapped from Haruhi to Hikaru, who was still leaning heavily on the former and the wall. “How do you feel, Hikaru?”

“I feel like shit, you idiot,” Hikaru growled. His exposed ankles were growing cold. The sensation irritated him.

Tamaki looked confused. Haruhi shifted again. “Tamaki, may Hikaru borrow some of your clothes?”

“Of…course. They might not fit, though.”

“Of course they won’t,” Hikaru flinched as a spear of pain went through his side. “You’re taller than me.”

“That’s fine,” said Haruhi, Tamaki glanced at the nurse, who now held the generic clothes in her arms, then hurried away.

Ten minutes later, Hikaru edged his way painfully down the short ramp from the jet to asphalt. He wore pants hitched up very high around the waist that still dragged slightly on the ground, long sleeves with cuffs that pinched his wrists, large sunglasses that covered a small part of the bruising on his face, and a loose cloth cap that partially hid the fact that part of his hair had been shaved away and his scalp heavily bandaged. Haruhi had told him he had staples; Hikaru hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror.

“This is stupid,” he complained as he hobbled along on crutches to a waiting wheelchair. “Any imbecile can see I’m all kinds of screwed up.”

“Yes, and they will know exactly what kind of invalid you are if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” said Kyoya calmly. “Follow me, please.”

Hikaru shut his eyes—even with the sunglasses, the sun blinded him and set his (probably bruised) temples to throbbing. He hunkered back in the chair, clutching the crutches between his knees as Kasanoda pushed him along, hating the every moment. Hating the clothes he had practically forced Tamaki to hand over, hating the bandages and the painkillers, hating the way his friends fussed over and shielded him from people, questions, the sun itself.

“Hika-chan, Usa-chan was very comforting when I had cavities. Do you want to hold him?”

“It’s a stupid stuffed rabbit, what good’s it supposed to do me?”

A hand on his arm, a calm logical voice informing him. “Hikaru, we’re headed to a hotel now. The nurse is going to stay with you. Kyoya says—”

“I don’t care what Kyoya says.”

“All right. Well, we’re currently in—”

“I don’t care where the hell we are.”

“Hikaru.” She was at once admonishing and sympathizing. The former was a balm, the latter a dagger.

The sound of a car grinding to a halt; Kyoya speaking in English, giving an address. A bird sang.

Hikaru bowed his head, eyes still shut, gaining relief every time the chair jostled, every time a muscle twitched in a slightly wrong way. The pain kept him from flying to pieces. Breathe in. Breathe out. Grimace. Flinch. Breathe.

Breathe.

*

_Don’t breathe._

Stay quiet.

Don’t move.

Don’t speak.

Don’t look up.

I let my mouth hang open. Air in. Air out. Silently. It’s easier to breathe silently through my mouth. I hold my breath when they come too close. I keep my eyes closed. That makes them less nervous. I keep my palms on the floor, fingers spread, legs folded underneath me.

Footsteps coming over.

_Don’t breathe._

My head swims; there are random bursts of light behind my eyes. The metal on my wrists is cold. My legs have gone numb. The footsteps move away.

Air in. Air out.

I’m alive. It’s a curiosity to be alive.

And Hikaru has escaped. He’s no longer with me, they no longer mock me with the shadow of him; they’ve given that up.

They’ve also tried to fix me, but they don’t know how.

“Have they found the other one yet?”

Something about Japanese planes, bullet tracing, fingerprints, the like.

“ _Damn_ it.”

My arms tremble; it’s a terrible effort to keep upright.

Don’t move. They might kill you.

“I can’t stay here! My wife’s waiting for me, she thinks I’m at a conference. And I’ll get fired if I miss any more days at work.”

“You think you’ve got it tough? We hang out here much longer I’m gonna miss my best friend’s funeral.”

Remember when I went to your funeral, Hikaru? It was my picture.

Footsteps.

_Don’t breathe._

“Forget your funeral. We’re both dead if he goes. Look at him.”

Dizzy.

“Can we kidnap a doctor or something?”

“Are you insane?”

“I’m just sayin’! They’ve lost Boss’s collateral. We’ve got to keep him alive or...”

Waving lights.

“Drop that curtain! It looks like a damn crime scene in here.”

Footsteps away.

Air in. Air out.

Hey, Hikaru, where did you go, anyway?

“How the hell are we supposed to keep him alive if we _don’t_ get a doctor in here? It was hard enough gettin’ him in without being seen, I don’t think we can get him back out.”

“I don’t know! We were going to kill him so they didn’t bother being—if we don’t do _something_ he’s going to get a fever, or gangrene, or something. Just look at his hand.”

Last time I saw you was at your gravesite, I think. Or was that you in the bathroom before you were replaced? When you held me?

Air in. Air out. Something drips onto my hand. It tickles.

“Oh, hell, not again.”

_They’re looking. Don’t breathe._

“We’ve got to do somethin’. Patch him back up as best we can. We can get him antibiotics at least. Splint his fingers maybe.”

“Won’t that hurt?”

“Not my problem.”

“He’ll scream.”

_Don’t breathe._

“He knows we’ll kill him if he screams. Don’t you, Kaoru?”

_Don’t breathe._

“Can he hear us?”

“’Course he can. Wouldn’t still be sitting up if he was unconscious, would he? Kaoru. We’ll kill you if you make a sound. Right?”

 _They want an answer._ My head jerks, almost of its own volition.

“There, see?”

And something in my face shifts. I feel it, a weird grating sensation, and the drip on my hand becomes a steady trickle.

“Oh _hell_.”

The floor has shifted sideways, but I keep my hands pressed firmly against it. Something blows gently against my face. A caress.

_Don’t breathe._

“Get the towels.”

Hikaru?

_Don’t breathe._


End file.
